To You, a Thousand Years in the Future
by CrazyClouds
Summary: Being the Boy-Who-Lived is horrible, because that's all anyone ever cares about. He wants them to look at him and see the person, not the false legend- the myth. And if he has to use all his power to create a legacy that will last a thousand years, then that's just what he'll do.
1. Chapter 1

Hogwarts was… _Alright_. Better than the Dursleys, at least, but there were few places worse than that. At the school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was still bullied, he was still hurt, he was still lonely no matter how many people he was surrounded by- and wasn't _that_ a paradox?

It made sense, in a way. These people wanted the Boy-Who-Lived that was in the books they grew up with; a boy who fought Dark Lords on his vacations, tamed dragons, destroyed the forces of evil at every turn with the power of friendship. Instead, they got Harry Potter; a scrawny boy with too-big glasses who didn't know the first thing about the Wizarding World. Once they realized the difference, public opinion shifted. He was scorned for being a normal boy, slandered for not living up to the myth.

Finding out he was a Parselmouth only made things worse. After all, how _dare_ he, the paragon of the Light, have such a Dark ability as Parseltongue? Ronald Weasley declared him a Dark Wizard in the making. Hermione Granger went with the flow, and became fearful of him. They seemed to conveniently forget the fact that Harry had fought against Voldemort, the Dark Lord considered the strongest in history, just last year. He'd tried reminding them, but…

"Well, of _course_ you're gonna fight Voldemort- since when have Dark Lords played nice with each other?"

Ron had said that, before promptly ganging up on Harry with the other Gryffindor boys in their dorm room and kicking the emerald-eyed boy out, jeering at the supposed Heir of Slytherin. Neville Longbottom had stayed out of it, but Harry couldn't help but notice how the chubby boy had trembled whenever the two made eye contact. Harry ended up sleeping on the couch in the Common Room, waiting until the other boys left to rush to the bathroom in the room. As a result, he'd nearly missed breakfast on several occasions. Still, he was at least able to grab a piece of toast from the Great Hall, which he nibbled on during his trek to his first class. Having dealt with near-starvation for many years, he was used to the pains in his stomach. Besides, lunch wasn't _that_ long after breakfast. He managed.

* * *

Quidditch was awkward, to say the least. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were rather disgusted by his new position as the Heir of Slytherin, and therefore disgusted by him. They put pressure on Katie Bell, who was quite nice, but eventually caved and stayed away from him. They also had Fred and George by the balls, so the Weasley twins had to be careful about interacting with him in public.  
Oliver Wood pretended not to care about the rumors, but anyone could tell the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was rather unnerved in Harry's presence. In the end, Harry resigned from the team. His official reason was that a person who caused tension with their mere presence was ill-suited for the team, and that they should find a Seeker they had better synergy with. Goodbyes were said, with barely-concealed venom in two certain cases, and his broom was stored away in his trunk, to stay there until kingdom come. As for his actual reason for quitting?

He just didn't want them to find him crying in the locker rooms later on.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was having the time of his life, it seemed, constantly insulting Harry, and taking delight in the lack of responses- any Gryffindor fire in the boy had been extinguished when they'd made it clear he wasn't one of them.

"Aw, is little Potty going to cry to his mummy? Oh, wait- she's _dead_! Ha!"

"What, Potter, so pathetic even a Mudblood and a Blood Traitor won't hang out with you? Looks like they've finally stumbled upon a bit of intelligence!"

"Did Wood finally wise up to what a faker you are? It's a wonder you made the Quidditch Team with your _atrocious _flying skills!"

"How could anyone think _you're _the Heir of Slytherin? You're about as powerful as that Squib janitor, but at least _he _can intimidate someone!"

Apparently, Malfoy had no brain-to-mouth filter, since he was just about _always_ spewing insults whenever Harry was around. It was slightly flattering, in a way, to know that Malfoy was constantly thinking about him. The thought almost made Harry smile. Almost.

He hadn't smiled in quite a while.

The only reason Harry didn't request to be removed from Hogwarts was because of the magic. Even the Dursleys would have been better than the amount of hatred he was exposed to here, regardless of the fact that they'd likely kill him at some point. It was splendid, and for a boy with precious little, became his everything. Between his books and his wand, little else mattered. Soon, the world began to fade into white noise.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley were kind, though that was more because they were simply nice people- if a bit rambunctious- more than any sympathy for Harry. At least, that's what the boy thought. Still, they seemed to understand that he'd much prefer isolation to constant ridicule, and pulled him aside after lunch one day to give him a bit of advice.

"If you'll follow us, ickle Harry?"

"We've something to show you, mate."

The twins had done nothing to hurt Harry, said nothing against him, so he followed. Even if they weren't friends, at the very least, he trusted the older Weasley's to not attack him. And if they did? Well, he wasn't exactly a stranger to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had even put a plaque on one of the beds declaring it Harry's, though she'd taken it down after seeing his grimace, both silently agreeing it was a joke made in poor taste.

"Right, see this here painting, Harry?"

"We want _you_, to tickle the pear."

Harry blinked, unsure if this was another prank or not. It didn't help that Fred and George were gesturing grandly to the green fruit, arms spread wide and kneeling in front of it. So, Harry did as they suggested; he tickled the pear.

The painting swung open, and Harry was treated to something he never imagined he'd see. Small, humanoid creatures with floppy ears, wrinkled gray skin, and ragged clothes were rushing around, doing all manner of activities- too many for Harry to properly focus on any single one. There were wood tables, shelves of pots and pans, cupboards lining every bit of free space. Ovens and stoves dotted the massive room, and a bunch of sinks sat in the far corner, filled to the brim with dirty dishes.

"This here is the kitchen."

"We noticed you looked a bit uncomfortable in the Great Hall."

"And these here are the House Elves."

"They'll do near-to anythin' for ya."

"Ever find yourself in need of a midnight snack?"

"Just make your way down to Hogwarts' kitchen, and these little buggers'll fix ya _right _up!"

A crowd of the tiny creatures ran up to the trio, bowing profusely and chattering wildly. One pushed its way to the front, seemingly the spokesperson for the other House Elves.

"We is welcoming you back, Messrs Gred and Forge! We is wondering, though, who is the new one?"

"Glad you asked, Pitts, old chap!"

"This here is the marvelous!"

"The stunningly handsome!"

"The absolutely fantastic!"

"Harry Potter!" they finished in unison, sweeping into a low bow.

The elves, at least, did not care about him being the Boy-Who-Lived, since they seemed to treat him the same as the twins. After many greetings, avoided offers for food, and the promise to come back if he was ever feeling even the slightest bit peckish, Harry and the Weasley twins walked back through the portrait of the fruit bowl, and went their separate ways.

* * *

That night, during dinner, Harry went to the kitchens rather than the Great Hall. Tickle the pear, avoid the swinging painting, smile and wave to the elves… It felt like he'd been doing this all his life. The boy sat down at one of the wooden tables after being directed there by a House Elf, and jumped when a plate of food suddenly appeared in front him. He recovered quickly, however, smiled at Pitts- the designated student-handler- and tucked in.

Even after all this time, Harry couldn't quite get over how good the food at Hogwarts tasted. Or maybe it was just the surprise at being able to eat at all, especially so consistently. Whatever it was, Harry didn't let it stop him from polishing off his plate. He was a growing boy, after all.

Afterwards, he was left in a pleasant daze, with a full stomach and a sleepy head. He was about to go back to the Gryffindor dorms to turn in early, when he realized that wasn't a good idea. The memory of being thrown out hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water, blowing away the cloud of exhaustion lurking in his skull.

"...Hey, Pitts? Do you know anywhere I can go to be alone?"

* * *

The Come-and-Go room. Or, the Room of Requirement. Personally, Harry liked the second name. It seemed a bit more magical, which was fitting for this part of the castle. A room which could transform into nearly _anything_? It was the pinnacle of spellwork, or whatever branch of magic was used to create it, and Harry highly doubted he'd ever see anything that matched it.

The Room of Requirement was absolutely perfect. It could transform into a bedroom for him to sleep in, so he wouldn't have to crash on the couches in the Common Room. It could transform into a shower, with soaps and shampoos and toiletries, so he didn't have to share with anyone else. It could even become completely empty, the perfect place for Harry to practice some of the more destructive spells he would no doubt eventually come across.

Pitts, bless his not-quite-human soul, had sweetened the deal. He'd brought Harry's trunk to the Room, effectively allowing him to move in without any hassle. And then, he informed Harry on how to contact House Elves; simply call out their name. By doing so, he could get Pitts to bring him meals whenever he desired, meaning less time wasted running around to the kitchen, and more time to practice magic. Plus, the House Elves seemed to love doing work, so they encouraged Harry to call upon them often. It was an all around win, and Harry's mood improved slightly, starting the long climb out of the emotional pit it had fallen into.

* * *

Classes were still bad. Snide comments reached his ears frequently, though the teachers often kept the students in check, so it didn't escalate. Snape, of course, was still a prat, usually worse than Malfoy with his crude comments. However, Harry learned to simply drown the man out, and was able to complete his potions. Didn't stop Snape from finding some imaginary reason to Vanish the contents of his cauldron.

History was skipped. There was no point going there, and Harry didn't quite fancy learning about yet another Goblin Rebellion/War/Conflict, when he could just as easily be practicing in the Room of Requirement. Binns didn't even take attendance, so it was simply a matter of not showing up. He could cram at the end of the year and probably still pass. He was tempted to do the same with Snape's class, if not for the fear that Snape would complain to Dumbledore, and that would escalate into a messy situation rather quickly.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a disaster, and the less said about Gilderoy Lockhart, who was constantly trying to butter up Harry, the better.

In everything else, Harry kept up with his peers, but didn't waste energy trying to rise to the top like Hermione. He was content at his position in the middle of the pack, and so long as he was learning the theory well enough to pass, then things were fine. He practiced spellwork in the Room, along with things much more advanced.

For some reason, wandwork came easily to Harry. He read the description of the spell's effects, studied the casting requirements, then simply did it. Usually, by the second try, he'd gotten something at least similar to what the book described. He practiced the spell for an hour or so to commit it to memory, then moved on. He didn't waste time on theory, beyond what was needed for class. Honestly, why would he, when he could see the effects of the spell firsthand?

Whenever he'd gone through the spells in one book- which he wrote down in a list so he wouldn't have to find it again in case he forgot- he returned to the library, and switched it for another. At the moment, his list of compiled spells stretched at least five sheets of parchment, and contained a combination of jinxes, hexes, charms, and the occasional curse, along with the counters for everything that had one. Besides the name, the incantation and wand motion were written down, but that was about it.

What Harry was currently focused on the most was the combat-oriented spells, but he noted the usefulness of simply jinxes in a fight. A person standing on Jelly Legs couldn't exactly dodge, right? Well, they couldn't exactly stand, either, but that was besides the point.

His interest in fighting and dueling was spontaneous. He'd seen a book in the Library titled _Dueling For Beginners_, took a look, and was immediately hooked. He'd practically thrown the book at Madam Pince to get it checked out, earning himself a stink-eye, but he ran out of there so fast he didn't even register it. According to the book, simple charms could be used in flurries, allowing the combatant to distract their opponent, then throw a heavy curse while the foe was unbalanced. Harry's eyes sparkled at the thought.

_I wish I could have a go at that_, he thought. And, since he'd forgotten exactly where he was, he was surprised when a wooden figure, with a humanoid shape, was standing in front of him. Harry leapt to his feet from the chair he was sitting in, banging his knee against the table he'd been reading at. He cursed, but ignored that in favor of watching the doll. It brandished a stick at him- a wand, the boy realized. He grinned. He quickly stuffed everything into his bag, then willed the Room of Requirement to shift into an empty space. His bag disappeared, but it would simply remain in that pocket dimension until he needed it again.

Pulling his wand from his pocket- his book recommended getting a holster for faster draws- Harry settled into a stance that felt natural. Knees bent, feet shoulder width apart, dominant leg in front with the other behind. Wand chest level, held in a firm grip, but with a mostly-loose wrist. Free hand hanging at his side, ready to be used as a ballast, for better balance while moving.

At some unknown signal, boy and walking tree whipped their wands at each other, a single spell flying from each wand. Harry sidestepped to dodge, tripped over his feet, fell to the ground, and was hit with a Stunner. The world went black.

* * *

Harry woke up a few minutes later to find the wooden doll standing in the same battle stance as before, not having moved an inch. With a sigh, he dismissed the artificial opponent, and climbed to his feet. How could he duel if he couldn't even move?

With that in mind, Harry settled into his stance once more, and began shuffling side to side. It was a bit embarrassing, almost like he was dancing, and the boy had to constantly remind himself that nobody was watching. Every hour or so, he'd summon the dummy, testing his progress on his footwork. It improved, a little bit. He dodged three whole spells on his final run for the night, and the best part was, he'd done it without staring at his legs the whole time. Of course, he tripped on his shoes on his next sidestep, but still.

Harry noticed two more things he was struggling with. First, his accuracy. Whenever he tossed a spell, it tended to go wide, usually missing by a foot or so- a large enough margin that the dummy didn't even have to move to dodge. And that was _if_ his spells reached. The second thing; his spells occasionally fizzled out halfway to his opponent. This usually happened on the spells he used while trying to dodge, likely meaning he wasn't concentrating on how much power he put into those spells. Launching them haphazardly was apparently not a good idea.

Harry sighed, commanding the Room to summon a bed and shower. After rinsing the sweat off his skin, Harry dropped bonelessly onto the plush mattress, falling asleep almost instantly. He had a _lot _to work on.

* * *

Colin Creevey had been petrified by something, and all eyes were on Harry Potter once more. The boy had nearly faded into obscurity, between his lack of presence and total silence when he _was_ seen, but now he had been forcefully tossed back into the limelight. He'd almost forgotten how much he hated attention.

First Years screamed when they saw him, Second Years avoided being too close, and even the upper years edged away from him in the hallways. If they didn't brandish their wands at him, of course. If it was meant to be a warning, then it was a damned good one. Harry took extra care to memorize those people's faces, and stay out of their way. He didn't fancy getting hexed by a jumpy Seventh Year, since they would likely make it hurt, and there was no way Harry could take them on. He'd only recently gotten up to a minute and a half against the dummy, though that was more through continuous dodging. His spellcasting was still atrocious.

Along with all the attention came unbridled vitriol from nearly everyone he saw. The Gryffindors, incensed by the attack against one of their own, cornered Harry several times, cursing him into unconsciousness. The Slytherins did it on principle, and even a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined in when they saw an opportunity. He spent a fair bit of time in the Infirmary these days, which cut into his training time. However, what training time he did have, he put to good use.

In a way, all these attacks on him were a good thing, since they pushed Harry to improve even faster. By the time Christmas hols rolled around, Harry decided that he had gotten good enough at dodging to put further specialised practice on hold for the moment. He was able to last two minutes against two dummies, avoiding nearly everything that came his way until he, inevitably, made a mistake. Hopefully, over the break, when classes were out, he'd be able to work on his offensive ability. That way, he'd be able to end a fight on his terms, rather than wait for the opponents to get lucky. He didn't leave the Room of Requirement at all, practicing feverishly.

In times when he was magically exhausted, he summoned three wooden dolls, and ordered them to shoot Stinging hexes at him while waiting to recover. He learned it was impractical to work with Stunners, since every time he failed- which was often- he lost precious minutes due to being unconscious. This way, he'd be able to keep going, even if he did get hit, which he did.

Pitts popped in one day to tell Harry that classes were back in session, and by then the boy was a bit more confident in his dueling ability. He wasn't going to win against anybody anytime soon, but at least he could make a good showing of it.

* * *

There were two more victims, but only one really counted. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified, but right in front of the boy had been an equally-frozen Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Somehow, the ghost had been petrified, which confused Harry a great deal. After all, what magic could affect a ghost?

The student body ignored the fact that a mere Second Year, one who wasn't even doing all that great in his classes, could not have possibly petrified Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick. Instead, an increased volume of slurs were thrown at Harry, and attacks on the supposed Heir of Slytherin doubled. This time, the Badgers joined in with a higher frequency, showcasing their loyalty by hexing the bits off the emerald-eyed boy at nearly every turn.

Despite the amount of pain he was constantly in, Harry used this as an opportunity to gain some experience. He no longer did his best to just dodge everything. This time, he was throwing up shields, casting charms and jinxes with the best of them. He even won a few fights, though only against a handful of Third and Fourth Years. They ran for reinforcements after a few thrashings, and the Seventh Years started to come out to play. Still, Harry fought, even if he ended up with more bruises than if he just rolled over.

* * *

There was another case of dual-victims. This time, Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater ended up in the Hospital Wing, with no indication of how long their condition would last. Clearwater was a Ravenclaw, and her petrification turned the rest of the not-quite-neutral House against him. Gryffindor managed to become even more vicious, being less cautious with the spells they used, and Harry would frequently end up a bloody mess. He was beginning to lose time in class, since he had to constantly go to Madam Pomfrey for healing. Maybe he should look into learning some Healing Spells?

Harry had long since given up trying to tell people he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, that there was no way for it to even be possible. At some point, he simply accepted the grim reality, and just polished his dueling skills with greater ferocity, both in the Room of Requirement and in the hallways. Fourth Years no longer stood a chance, and even a few Fifth Years were starting to go down. Unfortunately, there wasn't much Harry could do about the squads of Six and Seventh Years that snapped at his heels like a pack of hounds. He couldn't even use his Invisibility Cloak- he had nowhere to put it when it wasn't needed, since his bag was full and his pockets were tiny. He also didn't want to risk Ron or Hermione remembering the existence of the cloak, and trying to rally people to take it away from him. It was a family Heirloom, the only thing he had that was his father's- the only thing he had from _either_ of his parents, and he'd be damned if he was going to let it be snatched.

Instead, Harry wandered the halls freely, wand practically glued to his palm, magic ready to go flying at any moment.

* * *

_HER SKELETON SHALL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER_

Harry stared at the red letters for a long while, idly noting their position beneath the message which kicked this whole thing off. They were fresh, still dripping down the wall and onto the granite floor. He wondered if this had anything to do with Ginevra Weasley being covered in a crimson liquid, and entering the Second Floor girl's bathroom, which was notoriously haunted. As such, nobody used it. Except for Ginny, apparently. She was also carrying a small, tattered black book, but that probably wasn't important.

_I'm about to do something incredibly dumb, aren't I?_ Harry asked himself wryly. Then, with a nod, he spun on his heels, heading inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. There was no use contacting the teachers, since they were probably just as wary of him as the students, and therefore less likely to believe him. If anything, they might take it as an admission of guilt. Besides, Harry couldn't help but think that nobody would miss him terribly if he did die, so why not? Nothing to lose, and all that. Besides, it's not like there was anything better to do these days.

* * *

Moaning Myrtle was a bit of a shock. She was rather enthusiastic about her desire for Harry to die and spend the rest of his afterlife in this toilet with her, but he ignored that, focused more on his task.

According to Myrtle, she'd seen Ginny hiss at the sinks, and then the wall opened up. The Weasley girl had walked down the set of steps, and a few moments later, the tiles closed behind her. Hissing meant Parseltongue, but Harry didn't actually know how to consciously activate that skill. So, he spoke to the general area of the sinks, hoping for the best.

"_Open_."

Thankfully, his incredible luck held true, and the tiles jumped out of the way, revealing the very set of stairs Myrtle had described, damp and covered with moss. With a jaunty wave at the ghost, who squealed in delight and flew back into her toilet, he descended into the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

For some reason, Harry had expected the Chamber of Secrets to be a bit more chamber-y and a bit less hallway-y. Of course, you couldn't always get your way, so the boy resigned himself to walking. He did his best to ignore the massive things which looked suspiciously like shed snake skins, if the layered scales were any indication. It was definitely not the smartest idea, which he freely acknowledged, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He'd examine them later. If he survived, of course.

The torch-lit corridor finally ended, after what felt like years, with a wall. There were two snakes engraved into it. Each was contorted in the shape of an _S_, though one was backward so they could mirror the other. The midsection of the snakes were intertwined. With no other bright ideas, Harry hissed at the wall.

"_Open_."

The bricks split open, separating the carved serpents, and were flung inwards by an invisible force. And revealed…

_What do ya know? Another _bloody _corridor. Honestly, if I ever meet Salazar Slytherin…_

This hallway was different, however. The sides were lined with stone statues of snake heads, the mouths wide open, fangs on display. He could also see the end of the path this time, where it opened into a slightly wider area- probably the actual Chamber. A massive statue stood at the end, towering well over the height of the Great Hall. Considering who created the Chamber, it was probably safe to bet that the stone giant was a depiction of Salazar Slytherin. Pillars dotted the Chamber, replacing the snakeheads in the hallway. They reached up to the ceiling of the room, higher than even Slytherin's statue. Stone snakes wound around the base of the pillars.

A much shorter walk later, Harry found Ginny Weasley, lying on the floor at the feet of the statue. She was unconscious, skin pale, red hair a frizzy mess. Her breath was rattling in her chest, making Harry wince. He rushed over, checking for a pulse, despite the fact that he could hear her breathing. The girl's heartbeat was weak, though still present, and Harry sighed in slight relief. He gathered the redhead up in his arms and stood, but immediately dropped her. He cringed at the sound of her head bouncing on the polished marble, then focused more on the person in front of him.

It was a sharp-jawed, red-eyed boy with brown hair. He was smirking at Harry, but the emerald-eyed boy was more focused on the fact that this newcomer was partially transparent.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked, wand in his hand. He didn't think any of his spells could affect spirits, but it couldn't hurt to try.

The boy smiled. "Not quite. I suppose it would be more accurate to call me an echo… A memory."

Harry blinked. Then tossed a Stunner at the transparent boy, only for it to pass right through. Harry swore loudly, stowing his wand away. It wouldn't help here. The ghost raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused.

"Alright, so, since you're the only one here, I'm guessing you did this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the girl at his feet.

"You could say that."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who _are_ you, anyways?"

"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. And you must be Harry Potter- young Ginevra has told me _so_ much about you."

At the look of confusion on Harry's face, Tom pointed to something behind Harry. The emerald-eyed boy debated whether it was a good idea or not, but eventually turned. It wasn't as if a ghost could actually hurt him, right?

On the ground, next to where Ginny had been laying, was the black book she'd been carrying when he saw her earlier. He glanced back at Tom, who was still smiling genially, and walked over.

He grabbed the book, ignoring the way it heated up in his palms, and opened it. He found what looked like diary entries. They were fairly typical, what you'd expect to find in the journal of a pre-teen girl. A bit of talk about feelings, what issues she was having with what people, flowery handwriting, and talk of Harry Potter. _Lots_ of talk about Harry Potter. It was a bit disturbing, actually, but he couldn't exactly blame the girl. From what Ron had told him, back when they were still friends, Ginny had grown up with the falsified books about the Boy-Who-Lived, and fell in love with that myth. He wasn't particularly happy about it, but so long as she didn't push her stupid ideals on him, then they wouldn't have any issues.

Still, did she _have_ to sign off on her diary entries as _Mrs. Ginevra Potter_?

What threw Harry the most were the words printed in different handwriting than Ginny's. They were written as responses to Ginny's later entries, and the worst part was, Ginny wrote back. They had entire conversations, mostly about ways to secure Harry Potter's affections. Then, he remembered what Tom had said. He brandished the diary at the ghost.

"Are you saying this is you?"

"Indeed. It was quite annoying to have to deal with the fickle emotions of a young girl, but in the end, everything worked out. She gets your attention, and I get a body."

Body? Well, Tom was a ghost, and from what Harry had seen on the Muggle telly the few times he was allowed to watch it…

"...You're trying to possess her?" Harry asked, failing to hide the shivers that racked his body at the thought. The mere notion disgusted him.

Tom's smirk evolved into a grin, showing his perfectly white teeth. "But of course- did you expect me to stay locked up in that dingy diary for the rest of time?"

Harry didn't respond, staring at the black cover of the journal. It was becoming uncomfortably warm, and his fingers began to tingle. The feeling spread up his arm, bringing with it a hazy numbness. It continued moving, growing in intensity with every inch it covered. Tom was speaking, in an increasingly alarmed tone, but Harry was a million miles away, more focused on the book.

Once the sensation reached his shoulder, it exploded outward with incredible speed, covering him entirely within moments. That was all forgotten, however, when the tingle reached his forehead- reached his scar.

His skin _burned_. The pleasant heat became tongues of hellfire, searing his flesh, penetrating deeply to incinerate his skull and cook his brain. Harry fell to his knees, and keeled over, unable to focus on anything except the absolute agony. His fingers became iron clamps, refusing to let go of the diary.

Everything was blocked out by the pain. The way his head slammed into the concrete as he began to spasm and twitch, the near-corpse of Ginevra Weasley laying next to him, the raucous shouts of Tom Marvolo Riddle… Even the existence of Harry Potter began to fade from his mind, replaced by memories of eternal pain, infinite suffering. Nothing else mattered- nothing else _could_ matter, not in the face of this torture, which forced all thoughts, both conscious and subconscious, into oblivion. Soon, he would follow, swallowed by the void, his soul rent from his body by these ethereal claws which tore at him.

Then, it stopped, and he could think. Not that he _did_, still focused on the anguish which had consumed him mere moments ago, but it was possible. The Chamber of Secrets was silent, and Harry slowly crawled to his feet. He stumbled more than a few times, taking a good few minutes to do something as simple as stand upright.

When he did manage to rise, he had to fight another battle to not immediately keel over once more. His vision swam, blackening sporadically. He stumbled drunkenly, accidentally kicking Ginny on more than one occasion. Eventually, though, he did find his balance. With a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes.

And found himself staring into the yellow, slit-pupiled eyes of a massive snake. He reeled backwards, shrieking in a high-pitched tone which he would never own up to. The serpent's long tongue flickered out, tasting the air, before retreating back into its cavernous mouth just as quickly. However, it made no other move.

_Wait, it's a snake. That means I can probably talk to it in Parseltongue, right?_

"_Uh, hi?_" Harry said hesitantly. He had to repeat himself, since his voice came out pathetically quiet the first time. He cleared his throat, then spoke again, sounding much stronger, even if he didn't quite feel it.

The snake hissed wordlessly, the sound bouncing through the Chamber, and slithered forward slowly. Harry took a step back, nearly tripping when he bumped into Ginny. He had completely forgotten about the girl. He had to get her out of here, but there was no way he'd be able to run and carry the girl at the same time. He doubted he'd even be able to outrun the snake in the first place, since it could probably cover the twenty or so yards between them with a single lunge. Still, he had to try.

Yanking his wand from his pocket, he pointed it at Ginny, muttering "_Locomotor_." The redhead lifted a few inches off the ground. He had enough power to sustain this spell for quite some time, so there was a bit less to worry about on that front. Of course, there was still a demon inching towards them. Harry turned on his heels and sprinted down the hall he came from, diary still in his hand and Ginny levitating right in front of him.

The monster hissed louder, menacingly, and the scraping of scales against stone became frantic. In his panic, Harry pumped more magic into his spell, sending Ginny flying down the hall far faster than him. He ignored the way she tumbled a few times when he suddenly cut it, since she didn't slam into anything.

Turning back around, Harry almost froze upon seeing the gaping maw hovering above him, ready to swallow him whole. Thankfully, after so much practice against the students of Hogwarts, Harry didn't lock up in the face of an enemy, even if it seemed like he would die. His wand whipped up, and he cast the first spell he could think of.

"_Reducto_!"

In his panic, he'd pushed an enormous amount of magic into the curse. It collided with the roof of the snake's mouth, exploding with enough concussive force that Harry was staggered by a shockwave. The serpent reared back, hissing loudly, blood and viscera pouring out between its massive fangs.

A sharp cry sounded in the air, though it didn't seem to originate from the monster's crimson-stained mouth. Instead, it came from far above the two. Looking up, Harry watched as a fireball popped into existence. Thankfully, the beast was distracted by the noise as well, or it would have taken the chance to snap the boy up.

From the flames emerged a fiery chicken- Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. It dropped whatever it was carrying with its feet, then shot down to harass the monster, clawing at its eyes.

While the two mythical creatures- because there was no way the snake _wasn't_ a magical beast- fought, Harry grabbed the cloth which fluttered down to him. Upon further examination- made a mite more difficult by the insufficient light of the torches- Harry recognized the tattered fabric of the Sorting Hat.

"Quick, boy, take this!" the hat cried, flap moving like a mouth, shouting to be heard over the squawks and shrieks of the nearby battle. From the opening at the bottom of the Hat, which was placed on the heads of those being Sorted, the hilt of a sword emerged. It was made of gold, with many inscriptions which Harry did not have the time to examine. He also noted the rubies dotting the bottom of the hilt, and the ends of the crossguard. Grabbing the hilt, he pulled, and a gleaming silver blade emerged from the depths of the Sorting Hat.

Harry tossed the Sorting Hat to the ground, yanked out his wand, and charged the massive flailing snake. Blood was pouring from its closed eyelids like a river, meaning that Fawkes had likely destroyed its eyes. The phoenix was still flapping around, but its claws couldn't even scratch the scales, so it retreated for the moment.

Harry launched a flurry of jinxes and charms at the serpent, only for most of them to splash harmlessly against its scales. The spells did catch the beast's attention, and it turned to the boy once more, mouth opened in a roar.

"_Reducto_!"

This time, the Reductor Curse flew down the snake's gullet, exploding towards the back of its throat. Unlike before, however, the monster ignored the pain, continuing its flight towards Harry, mouth wide open. He fired off a few more curses, but his terror was working against him now. His spell power was drastically fluctuating, sometimes fizzing out before they even reached the rapidly-approaching pink mass.

Harry made a split-second decision, and lowered his wand. Instead, he raised the silver sword in his other hand, and braced himself.

A weight descended on him, threatening to crush him, and pain exploded in his sword arm. A guttural screech emerged from the snake's throat, but the noise died out quickly, and the beast went limp. Unfortunately, Harry was still underneath it, so he was nearly flattened. Something was piercing his upper arm, digging further in with the weight of the creature's head, and Harry cried out in pain. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he struggled futilely against the pressure forcing him down. His grunts and cries were the only sound in the Chamber for a long moment, before Fawkes cawed.

The phoenix swooped down, alighting on the stone floor next to Harry. It put a clawed foot against the boy's right shoulder, which was not being mauled, and covered both of them in flames. They reappeared a few feet away, but Harry hardly noticed, instead using this as an opportunity to find out what was causing him pain. He gagged, nearly throwing up everything in his stomach, and probably his stomach itself as well.

Stabbed into his left arm was a massive fang, about as long as the blade of the sword, which he was miraculously still holding, and thick as a log at the base. The part in Harry's arm was just barely skinny enough to avoid cutting the limb into two pieces, but it was a close thing. If the ground had not stopped the tooth from going any deeper when the snake's head fell against Harry, his arm would have been torn apart by the sheer size alone.

Fawkes rose into the air once more, this time wrapping his claws around the base of the fang. The bird began flapping its wings, pulling at the bone, slowly dragging it out of Harry's arm. The whole time, the emerald-eyed boy was screaming and cursing, until his cries devolved into unintelligible, animalistic roars. Finally, however, the fang was out, and the phoenix tossed it aside.

Fawkes plummeted to the ground, landing next to Harry's injured arm, and leaned over the wound. A stream of liquid poured from its beady black eyes, dripping down its beak and onto the edge of the gaping hole. The tears trickled into the wound, and with a hiss of steam, the cavity began to fill in.

Relief flooded Harry's weary body, and he stopped thrashing. The pain in his arm quickly vanished, and even his throat, sore from the abuse of his vocal chords, was soothed. With a sigh, he went limp against the floor, head lolling to the side. He pressed his cheek against the cold stone, reveling in the way it cooled down his overheated body. Harry laid like that for a long while, simply breathing, and trying to organize the whole ordeal in his mind.

So Ginny was being possessed by a diary, owned by Tom Marvolo Riddle, and was about to die. Probably. If the red stains covering the girl were any indication, then she was the one writing the bloody messages near the entrance to Myrtle's bathroom- hopefully against her will- which meant the possession had been going on for a while. This event was probably a bid for complete control, rather than the short periods it had been before. Which means, Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin. Someone like that would probably be dangerous.

Then again, the diary had been a memory, so it was possible the actual person wasn't alive anymore. Whoever they were, they had to be a Parselmouth to open the Chamber of Secrets, but that didn't really mean much. Ever since Voldemort's rise to power, and the subsequent stigmatisation of Parseltongue, anyone with the ability probably hid it, so there'd be no records. That was a dead end.

Did they have any connection with that monster? Considering how it hadn't attacked them, perhaps. Then again, Harry had no clue how often Tom brought Ginny down to the Chamber, so there was no way of knowing if they'd ever had a run-in with the beast. Speaking of which, wasn't that supposed to be Slytherin's Monster? Harry remembered some of his classmates speaking about how there was apparently an ungodly beast down in the Chamber, which would one day emerge and kill everything. They also claimed Slytherin's Monster was the means by which the Heir of Slytherin attacked, so did that mean the massive snake was behind the petrifications? If that was the case, then why was Harry still able to move? And would the students in the Hospital Wing be free now, or did they still need to wait for an antidote?

Alright, so, possession by the Heir of Slytherin, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who ordered the snake to petrify people. That seemed to be the short of it, and Harry wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking about it.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry staggered around the Chamber, picking up the things scattered around him. The diary went into his robe pocket, the Sorting Hat- disgruntled about being tossed aside like yesterday's trash- went on his head, and he held the silver sword in his once-injured left hand. Using his wand, he cast the Locomotion Charm to pull Ginny towards him. Once she was close enough, Harry stowed his wand in his pant pocket. He wrapped an arm around the redheads waist, hefting her over his shoulder. He swayed a bit under the new burden, but managed to stay on his feet.

When Harry was stable on his feet, Fawkes landed on his free shoulder, and they were surrounded in orange flames.

* * *

Dumbledore was not alone in the Headmaster's Office. Standing in front of his desk, raging wildly, was Molly Weasley. She was shouting, pacing, waving her hands about, and generally making a nuisance of herself. A fair bit behind her stood Arthur Weasley, arms crossed, jaw locked, and steel glinting in his normally-kind eyes. McGonagall stood off to the side, lips pursed, looking like she either wanted to agree with Molly or cut the redhead off.

Dumbledore was not looking like the genial old man he portrayed himself as. His eyes were narrowed, fingers steepled on his desk. Behind his hands and beard, his lips were pressed together into a thin line. The ever-present sparkle in his eyes was missing, Harry noted idly.

The burning of flames and the subsequent flash of light alerted everyone to his sudden presence. Molly's rant cut off abruptly as she, along with everyone else, whipped around to stare at him.

"_GINNY!_" Molly shouted, launching herself forward and grabbing the girl off Harry's shoulder. She cradled her daughter, wiping her mucked-up hair out of her equally-dirty face. Rolling around in the centuries-old Chamber of Secrets was not good for one's hygiene.

Arthur came forward as well, but at a more sedated pace. The two worried parents crowded around the unconscious girl, poking and prodding. Molly even cast a few diagnostic charms, which Harry only recognized due to his many visits to the Infirmary. A few lights flashed red, and Molly cried out in fear.

"Albus! My baby! We _have_ to get to the Hospital Wing!"

Dumbledore did not seem quite as worried as the situation warranted. Instead, he was staring intently at Harry. "Professor McGonagall, please escort Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to the Hospital Wing. I must have a talk with young Mr. Potter."

The parents and Transfiguration professor left with due haste, Arthur hoisting Ginny in his arms. Student and Headmaster watched them rush out, then turned to each other, emerald green meeting electric blue. It felt like a conversation passed between them as they stared at each other, but nothing was said.

"So, Mr. Potter… Would you care to explain the situation?

* * *

Dumbledore leaned back heavily in his chair, stroking his silver beard. On his desk was the diary of Tom Riddle, which he stared at, exhaustion evident in his drooping features.

"This… Is most distressing, Mr. Potter."

"What are you going to do about the Chamber, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his mane for a few more moments. "I believe that I must investigate, to ensure there are no more threats to the school. We only narrowly avoided closing Hogwarts for good- it simply would not do for this situation to repeat itself anytime in the near future. And for that, I will need your help."

"Because I'm a Parselmouth?"

"Yes, and I would also like some company. I _would_ call in the Aurors, but if they saw anything like what you've described, I fear they may shut the school down, regardless of the fact that the threat has been eliminated."

"...Alright. I don't know how I feel about going back down there, but I'll do it if it helps. Besides that, can I keep the sword?"

Dumbledore's smile faltered a bit at the suddenness of the question. He glanced at the sword, taking in the ruby-encrusted gold hilt and silver blade, before simply shrugging.

"Well, I don't see why not. If the Sorting Hat gave it to you, then I don't believe I am in any position to contest that decision. Obviously, that does not mean you can swing it about as you please." He gave the boy a playfully-stern glare, and the corner of Harry's lip twitched up in something that was almost a smirk.

"I do believe that concludes our business for the day, so you may return to your quarters, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you are exhausted after that ordeal. Also, you may rest easy, since the end-of-year exams have been cancelled due to the emotional distress of the student body as a whole. A good day, my boy."

Dumbledore walked out of the office, leaving a slightly dazed Harry behind. The emerald-eyed boy smiled a bit once he registered that there were no exams, meaning more time to train. Also, to figure out how to actually use the sword he now owned, which was apparently the Sword of Gryffindor, according to the Headmaster.

The Sorting Hat went back on one of the shelves, Fawkes hopped onto his perch, and Harry stumbled his way out of the Headmaster's Office. In the Room of Requirement, Harry managed to struggle through a shower, changed into his sleepwear, and fell heavily into the Room-conjured bed. Darkness encased him like a coffin, and he was unconscious in an instant.

That night, he had a dream.

* * *

_He was holding a quill, the tip of which was primed with ink from the nearby well. In front of him sat a book. The blank black cover seemed quite familiar. He flipped the book open to the first page, and began writing._

_After a few moments of scratching away at the parchment, the hand lifted itself to reveal what was written. A name; Tom Marvolo Riddle. He spent a long while looking at each letter, pointing occasionally, and dragging his finger around on the page idly while he concentrated. Numbers were written down under each letter, sometimes scribbled out and replaced. Finally, once the numbering was complete, he rewrote the letters in order, starting with the one labeled '1'._

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

* * *

**Dobby didn't warn Harry about anything. That's why the first time he saw House Elves was in the kitchen.**

**Basilisk stare didn't kill him because Parselmouth magic protected him. Complete BS, yeah, but that's just how I'm doing it. He didn't have Hermione to research the beast, nor did he have a vested interest in the going-ons of the school. As such, he had no clue that Slytherin's Monster was a Basilisk, and it would've made for a very quick end if he was able to be petrified just like that.**

**I never understood why nobody let Harry keep the Sword of Gryffindor in many fanfics. It seems like something useful to have.**

**Yes, this'll be a Harry-absorbs-Horcruxes thing, but he won't be getting many memories. Just a boost to his power, and the occasional memory-dream, like the one at the end of this.**


	2. Chapter 2

The few weeks leading up to the end of term were more exhausting than the rest of the year, including all the hallway duels. People just would not. Stop. _Apologizing!_ They weren't even sincere about it, either- they just wanted to be in the good graces of the Boy-Who-Lived, who was no longer deemed the incorrigible Heir of Slytherin. It was so pathetic that even Harry, socially inept as he was, could see right through them. Whenever someone came up to him with the words _I'm sorry_ on their lips, Harry just kept on walking. Or ignored them, if they were in class, since he kind of couldn't walk away at that moment, much as he wished he could.

The most aggravating thing about this entire ordeal was the people who actually _meant_ what they were saying. They were the people who didn't _need_ to apologize, yet they did it all the same. Fred, George, Oliver, Hermione… Well, the jury was still out on Hermione, since she _did_ side with Ron at the beginning of this whole mess, but he accepted her well-wishes anyways. They weren't friends again, but they could at least hold a civil conversation without Harry wanting to bash his head in.

* * *

Harry was offered his spot back on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and Oliver was literally in tears when the boy refused. Apparently, their new Seeker was absolute pants, and they needed Harry's skill if they ever wanted to see the Quidditch Cup for the rest of Oliver's Hogwarts career. Unfortunately, Harry simply did not want to be around Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet- not that he said as much to Oliver. He simply told the Captain that he lost interest in Quidditch. He felt a bit bad when the Fifth Year started sobbing, but there wasn't much he could do without going back on his word.

So, Harry awkwardly patted the older boy on the shoulder, and went on his way.

* * *

Ron was an even bigger idiot than Harry thought. The redhead plopped down next to him one day in Transfiguration- which he hadn't done since November- and immediately began babbling about the latest Quidditch Match. Harry asked him what he was doing, and Ron looked confused.

"I'm telling you about last week's Quidditch Match, mate."

"I understand that," Harry said patiently, "But why are you telling _me_?"

"We always talk about Quidditch, mate."

Harry blinked, then turned to his book and ignored Ron for the rest of the period.

* * *

Fred and George talked with him a bit more freely. They weren't being watched as closely by Angelina and Alicia, so they could get away with a bit more. Of course, considering that they had hardly talked much in the first place, things didn't change all that much, but there was less tension during their meetings, and no need for secrecy. It was nice to know that he wasn't going to hurt somebody's other relationships just by being near them.

Back to business as usual with the pranksters.

* * *

Hermione was incredibly subdued. Sometimes she sat next to him in class, and they occasionally passed comments to each other. More commonly, though, she would sit with the other Gryffindor Second Year girls, despite the fact that they seemed to make her incredibly uncomfortable. Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and Fay Dunbar were unrepentant gossips, more so the former two. The latter simply went along for the ride, but all three did their best to drag Hermione away from her books and into their saucy commentaries, ignoring the bushy-haired girl's obvious discomfort. However, Hermione stayed quiet.

Harry had been the balancing force between Hermione and Ron, and without him, the two were unable to get along. Hermione was too much of a know-it-all for Ron, while Ron talked about Quidditch to the point where Hermione wished she was deaf. They drifted apart very quickly once Harry was determined to be the Heir of Slytherin. Ron went to hang out with the other Second Year Gryffindor boys, while Hermione tried to isolate herself in the library. However, she'd gotten a taste of the blessing that was friendship, and found herself wanting more. So, the girl forced herself to participate in the dialogues between the other young ladies, disregarding her personal feelings.

Harry didn't know whether to pity Hermione, or just laugh.

* * *

Things with Ginevra Weasley became a bit distorted. He did occasionally catch her staring at him in the hallways, but unlike before, she didn't flare up like a tomato and run away. Instead, she now smiled at him and waved. Her stares were less admiration, and more curiosity, which Harry much preferred.

He had expected her hero-worship to become absolutely unbearable, to the point where she was literally throwing herself at him, loudly proclaiming him her knight in shining armor for the whole world to hear. Her change had been the complete opposite of that, and it had been a fairly pleasant surprise. On the off chance that they were going in the same direction, they would hold casual conversations, and it was rather nice. Neither of them brought up the incident in the Chamber, based on the silent mutual understanding that the other didn't want to talk about it. So, they stuck to Quidditch, classes, and the occasional bit of gossip.

Things were better this way.

* * *

With Ginny came Luna Lovegood, a First Year Ravenclaw. Apparently, the two lived close to each other, basically neighbors, so they'd known each other long before Hogwarts. As expected of two young girls who'd practically grown up together, they didn't let silly things like being in different Houses end their friendship. Instead, they simply treasured their rare moments together more.

Luna was a bit odd. She frequently spouted off about strange creatures which Harry had never heard of; Crumple-Horned Snorkacks being one example. Apparently, Harry was constantly being swarmed by things called Wrackspurts. What that meant, he had no clue, and every time the girl tried to explain it to him, he got a headache, so he soon stopped asking.

Other than that, Luna wore vegetable-shaped earrings, a butterbeer-cork necklace, and kept her wand tucked behind her ear. Harry wondered if it ever fell from there, but seeing the way the girl ran about, he doubted it. She seemed to have a habit of roaming the castle barefoot, and Harry could've sworn that he saw her feet turning blue from the cold on several occasions, but whenever he asked, she just muttered something about jealous Nargles and changed the subject.

Her silver eyes were quite intense, drawing Harry in every time he gazed at their watery depths, and he couldn't help but shiver at the thought of what lay below the surface. He was a bit intimidated by the girl's absentminded, yet entirely accurate comments, but pushed through it.

Nobody deserves to be shunned for being unique.

* * *

Classes went much the same, though the teachers were pushing even harder, to make up for not having the end-of-year exams. McGonagall was fiercer than a tiger, and Harry had to wonder if her Animagus form might've changed at some point. Flitwick's wand flashed faster than ever, his motormouth running at an extra hundred miles per hour as he tried to cram more learning into their short time left. Snape's scowl was impossibly deeper, and he glared at Harry nearly every second of class, even when he was talking to somebody else. He was probably thinking that the boy's victory over Slytherin's Monster would inflate his already-massive ego to gargantuan proportions.

Astronomy ended with more headaches from looking through telescopes for far too long, cataloging each and every star in as many constellations as they could, then writing feet of paper on the magical significance of those stars' position in the sky relative to the Earth. It was worthless to Harry, but he did the work anyways. Harry didn't know about History, considering he didn't go at all. Herbology resulted in incredibly dirty clothes, since the students were romping around in the greenhouses nearly all the time now.

Defense Against the Dark Arts managed to become even more of a mess. According to Dumbledore- who seemed rather irritated while explaining the change- Lockhart had volunteered to defeat Slytherin's Monster. When the other staff members agreed and sent him on his way (not that they actually believed he would succeed; they just wanted the blond ponce out of the way while the responsible people handled the crisis), the man turned tail and fled Hogwarts. As such, the Headmaster had to take over for the remainder of the year, but at least he taught them useful things, even if they were a bunch of basic jinxes that Harry had learned long ago.

However, Dumbledore was quite the progressive, unbeknownst to nearly everyone. He did not believe in simply waiting for more advanced material to come your way to learn it. Rather, he greatly appreciated those who took their education into their own hands, and sought out higher-level learning. He made this known by staging duels with students every class after he gave out the assignments. Considering they were Second Years, they hardly knew anything beyond the basic spells they covered in class. Even Hermione did not have that great of a repertoire, though that probably had something to do with being petrified for a few months, as well as wasting time with all the theory on literally everything. These duels were completely optional, and many gave up after they were thoroughly thrashed the first time.

Meanwhile, Harry, who had only been focused on dueling for the year, was able to perform a bit better. His spells were more varied, more powerful, more accurate. He was as quick a draw as he could be without a holster, and his footwork was akin to dancing. Every time the emerald-eyed boy dueled his temporary Professor, the both of them were grinning widely; Dumbledore, because he loved to see students excel- despite how long it had been since he held the post of Transfiguration Professor, he was still a teacher at heart- and Harry, because he learned something new with every skirmish. The Headmaster was a walking treasure trove of advice, and every second sentence out of his mouth was some form of wisdom for those who were listening.

Harry and Dumbledore went back and forth every period, a river of magical light flowing between them, oblivious to the awed looks from the observing students. Of course, Harry lost every single time, but with each passing class, he was lasting a few more seconds. By the time term ended, he was up to a solid five minutes against the Headmaster, though there was no doubt the old man was holding back. Harry couldn't exactly fault Dumbledore, however; he quite liked being alive, and an unrestricted Defeater of Grindelwald would crush him to a paste in an instant.

* * *

Training in the Room of Requirement was also ramping up in intensity. After his pathetic display against Slytherin's Monster, he was determined to never be in that position again. At least, that was the end goal. Obviously, as he was now, such a thing was inevitable, but that was the whole point of training.

First, physical conditioning. He began to do distance-runs around the perimeter of the castle and swimming in a pool made by the Room, to improve cardio. Then, push-ups, sit-ups, and other workouts to improve his strength without putting on much muscle. So long as he could move his own body with ease, then that was fine. He didn't need to become a hulking beast with the strength to move a mountain, since speed was the aim. The faster he could move, the more spells he could dodge, and the less energy he'd have to waste on shielding.

Sword-fighting was a bit touchy. He had to start with a heavy stick, since the thought of swinging around a silver blade without any clue what he was doing was more-than-slightly terrifying. Harry much preferred being intact. He trained against another wooden dummy, courtesy of the Room. It was similar to the dolls he used for magical duels- which he could now handle four of- but this one also carried a large stick. At first, their bouts didn't last long, since Harry's arm wasn't used to swinging around that weight, but he eventually became accustomed to it. The next thing to figure out was technique. According to a book supplied by the Library, there were a few basic moves he had to learn to counter, because nearly all swordsmen used them. He'd have to burn those skills into his muscle memory, so he could perform them instinctively. He couldn't fight effectively if he was hyper-focused on every single motion he made, after all.

Harry didn't know if there was even any use for learning how to fight with a sword, considering this was a wand-dominated society. However, now that he was the owner of the Sword of Gryffindor, he felt obligated to at least try.

Harry was still reading about new spells, and constantly devising ways to use them in his fights. He tore through the Library, borrowing books with almost the same frequency as Hermione, even if it wasn't anywhere near the same volume. His latest favorite spell had to be the Exploding Charm. Specifically, the advanced version; _Bombarda Maxima_. The sheer amount of destruction it caused had Harry weak in the knees. If he'd known this back in the Chamber of Secrets…

His newest dueling book, _Dueling for the Adept_\- which was the second in the series- described ways to speed up spellcasting drastically. First, shortening the wand strokes. The motions were described as another method of focusing the magic into the spell you wanted, alongside incantations. At their core, spells were intent-based. If you wanted it enough, then it would happen, which was the main reason for accidental magic. For some reason, this manner of casting was described as incredibly difficult for even the most experienced duelists, but Harry was simply not seeing the problem.

As far as he understood, all you had to do was really want something to happen, and it would. And Harry _really_ wanted to lay waste to his enemies. Or to win. Whichever worked. Either way, he was able to do silent, single-move casting, and his dueling potential skyrocketed from there. Dumbledore had been surprised the first time Harry utilised it in class, but he smiled brilliantly and upped the difficulty of their matches. It was exhilarating, and further increased Harry's drive to become better upon seeing that his efforts had been noticed and respected.

* * *

"_Open_."

Dumbledore shuddered a bit at hearing his student hiss. Harry noticed, but didn't say anything. The Headmaster hadn't reacted like anyone else; he just looked sad. Since Harry couldn't understand why, he said nothing, and the two descended the stairs to the Chamber of Secrets.

In the initial hallway, Dumbledore stumbled upon seeing the first of the shedded snake skins. He tossed a _Lumos_ into the air, and stepped closer to rub a hand across the scales. After a bit of quiet muttering, he turned, and the two continued down the hallway.

In the Chamber, Dumbledore actually tripped, falling to the stone floor. Harry shouted in surprise, and helped the old man up.

"By _Merlin_…" the Headmaster breathed reverently, "Do you mean to tell me you killed _that_ monstrosity with the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Yeah. Trust me, it was harder than it looked. I would've died if not for Fawkes."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Fawkes has been quite helpful throughout my many years. I was quite lucky to find him as a companion."

They strode closer, and Dumbledore hit the corpse with a number of obscure spells. He froze once he interpreted the subsequent lightshow, then lowered his shaking wand hand.

"I had hoped I was wrong; that it was simply a snake that had undergone many rituals, or been fed an assortment of potions to catastrophic effect… Mr. Potter, did you know this is a Basilisk?"

"A what?"

"A Basilisk. A Class XXXXX magical creature, bred for the first time by Herpo the Foul, a Dark Lord in Ancient Greece. The Basilisk is known for having the most potent venom in both the Magical and Muggle Worlds, and… A stare which kills its victims instantly upon eye contact."

Harry stiffened in shock, then chuckled nervously. "Surely you're having me on, Headmaster? I looked it right in the eye for a long time, and I think I'm fine…"

The old man whipped around to gape at his student. "_What!?_"

Harry took a step back, slightly frightened by the intensity of Dumbledore's frantic gaze.

"Y-yeah? I made eye contact the first time I saw it. Didn't feel a thing, honest."

"...Perhaps it is because you are a Parselmouth. Herpo the Foul did not die because of his creation, and records indicate that he never knew it could do such a thing until it happened to one of his slaves. Yes, I believe that the magic of being a Parselmouth must have protected you from the death stare, or we would not be having this conversation."

Harry nodded wordlessly.

"Now, do you know if there are any other sections of the Chamber?" At the negative response, Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Well, then I believe we have something of a scavenger hunt on our hands."

* * *

Dumbledore had Harry speak Parseltongue to just about every brick in the chamber, as well as all the stone snakes, and finally, the statue of Slytherin. _That_ got a response. The mouth of the statue opened slowly, the jaws pried apart by an invisible force. The sound of stone grinding against stone tore at Harry's ears, and he grimaced the entire way through. It stopped with jarring force, sending a tremor through the Chamber.

Dumbledore levitated the both of them to the opening, and they stepped in warily, wands at the ready. After a short conversation, they decided for Harry to go first, because he was the one with the built-in Basilisk protection. The Headmaster held a powerful _Lumos_ above their heads like a torch, and they creeped forward.

It took a long time to reach anything of note, which was a circular room. It was completely bare, with nothing on the walls except some weathered cracks. The air was stale, lifeless, and full of dust. Dumbledore launched a few powerful cleaning spells, and the two could breath easily again.

With the particles cleared from the air, it was possible to see the round object in the center of the room. It was white, more of an oval than a sphere…

"Headmaster, is that what I think it is?"

"If you mean a Basilisk egg, then yes, I do believe it is."

"Oh, so I'm _not_ absolutely mad. That's nice to know."

"...Mr. Potter, I am fairly certain we have a bigger problem at hand than that."

"I mean, yeah, but it's just an egg. Can't exactly hurt anyone right now, you know?"

And, of course, the egg chose that moment to break open. The baby snake hissed, the noise echoing through the dead-silent room. It poked through the hole in the egg shell, and slithered out, covered in fluids. The snake turned to them, and Dumbledore immediately closed his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, quickly! Destroy it!" Dumbledore cried, backing up a few steps. For a few minutes, he heard nothing besides the tapping of Harry's shoes against the ground. No flashes of light shone through his wrinkled eyelids, no dying wails of the baby Basilisk. Instead, he heard… Hissing?

"Mr. Potter!?" Dumbledore shouted. He wasn't going to risk peeking, so he could only play it by ear. He also couldn't just randomly toss spells, due to the very high chance of hitting Harry. Not an ideal situation at all.

"Headmaster…"

Dumbledore swallowed upon hearing the dazed, breathy tone of his student. The fact that the boy was talking at all lifted his spirits slightly, but not by much. "Y-yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Can I keep it?"

* * *

"I… Frankly, I'm not quite sure what to say, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore admitted, once the two were back in the Headmaster's Office.

"That's fine. You don't have to say anything, you know."

The old man shot the boy a baleful stare, and received a cheeky grin in response. Dumbledore shook his head.

"I cannot believe you managed to talk me into allowing you possession of a newborn Basilisk."

"Don't worry, Headmaster. I'm going to be talking you into a few more things soon. For starters, can I stay at Hogwarts for the summer?"

"..._What_."

"Can I. Stay. At Hogwarts. This summer."

"Yes, I heard you the first time, my boy- despite my age, my ears are still functioning quite well. What I wish to know is, _why_?"

Harry seemed shocked, as if astounded by the sheer audacity of the Headmaster. "You mean you don't _know_?"

Now the old man was getting annoyed. "_No_. I believe that was the purpose of my asking for your reason."

"Seriously? You think I _want_ to stay with the Dursleys?"

"Mr. Potter, they are your family. Surely, they are not that bad?"

Harry stared at him, face suddenly blank, devoid of anything resembling emotion. "Headmaster, they have systematically abused me, physically, mentally, and emotionally since the time I could walk- and probably beforehand, knowing them. They are the absolute worst sort of people, and take a disgusting amount of pleasure in causing me pain. Aunt Petunia forces me to do every bit of manual labor she can find, under threat of bludgeoning by pots and pans, which she has followed up on many times. Uncle Vernon takes advantage of every mistake I make, no matter how inconsequential, to beat me to a bloody pulp, and has not been shy about breaking bones in the past. Dudley has gathered up the other kids in the neighborhood to form some sort of gang, whose sole purpose is to run me down and kick me around whenever I set foot outside. I was frequently starved, often going for consecutive days without food. During those times, I was also locked up in a tiny boot cupboard underneath the stairs, with hardly any light, and absolutely no human contact. Besides that, they have never, not _once_, said a kind thing to me. Before my acceptance to Hogwarts, I was led to believe that my mother was a drunken whore who sold her body for drug money, and my father her abusive pimp, both of whom died in a car crash while high out of their minds. Before my first day of primary school, I thought my name was Freak, because that was all they ever called me. The only reason I found out otherwise was because of roll call. They know that I cannot perform magic outside of school, for fear of expulsion from Hogwarts, and make use of that to hurt me to their heart's content without any fear of retribution. What part of that sounds _not that bad _to you?"

The Headmaster was stunned. For a long while, he was silent, before he rose to his feet. The air around him crackled dangerously, and sparks of thunder flashed in his eyes.

"Dear boy, I do believe I have a visit to make."

* * *

"Mr. Potter… _Harry_… I have a confession to make."

Harry tilted his head, staring quizzically at the old man, whose electric-blue eyes were swimming with emotion.

"_I _was the one who placed you with Dursleys. Professor McGonagall insisted that I not do it, but I was too stubborn, thinking myself in the right. It was after that fateful Halloween, when you were marked by Voldemort. At the time, things in Magical Britain were tense. Many did not believe that Voldemort was truly gone, and as such, continued fighting a meaningless war. However, I knew that sooner or later, they would come to know the truth. Specifically, the Death Eaters. I feared that they would attempt to finish what their master started, and pursue you to the ends of the Earth to do so. I knew that placing you with any magical family would only broadcast your location, as well as paint a target on your hosts' backs. So, I went where I knew the Death Eaters would never think to look; the Muggle World. The reason I placed you with Petunia was twofold; firstly, they were your legitimate family. I had truly believed they would be able to look past Petunia's animosity for Lily, and care for you as their own, which I now know to be completely and utterly foolish. Secondly, I layered the property with Blood Wards, keyed to Lily's blood, for the purpose of repelling wizards and witches with ill-will towards you. They were immensely strong, and the reason why no Death Eater has been able to find you during the summers, and before entering Hogwarts… Unfortunately, I failed to take into account the _Muggles_ who may wish you harm, and for that, I can only offer my most humble apologies."

Dumbledore bowed his head, hands in his lap, waiting for the words of the boy who had nearly been destroyed by his machinations.

"Yeah, apologies are nice and all, but they're kind of useless, you know?"

The old man flinched as if struck, grimacing beneath his thick beard.

"So, if you want to make up for it…"

Dumbledore leaned forward, desperate to hear these words and do his best to fix his mistakes, to atone for his grievous sins.

"You have to teach me Occlumency."

"How did you hear of that, Mr. Potter!?" Dumbledore cried, spine snapping straight in astonishment.

"It was in one of my books; _Dueling for the Advanced. _Why are you so shocked?"

"It's just… Under the Ministry of Magic's laws, that branch of magic has been deemed Dark magic, and therefore illegal to practice. All mentions of it were supposed to have been erased…"

"Really? I found that book in the Library, though… Granted, it _was_ in the Restricted Section, and it's quite old- nearly falling apart at the seams."

Dumbledore sighed. He thought about reprimanding the boy for outright admitting to breaking the rules, but realized that there was only one for him to have done it without Madam Pince disabling the wards; James Potter's Invisibility Cloak. If that were the case, then that meant Dumbledore was enabling the boy, and it would be somewhat embarrassing if Harry made that connection. So, he decided against scolding the boy, instead settling for simply commenting, "Well, it seems the Ministry was not as thorough in their censorship as they would have liked. Still, are you sure that is what you would like? It is not an easy task, and can take many years…"

Harry shrugged. "I've got time- I'm only twelve, you know. Besides, apparently it gives you photographic memory, which I quite like the sound of."

The Headmaster smiled a bit, enjoying the innocent curiosity in his student's voice.

"Well, considering you will be staying here over the summer, I think we will be able to work something out."

"Wonderful. If that's everything then, Headmaster?"

"I do believe it is, dear boy. And, Harry?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Thank you, for not holding a grudge." The old man poured as much sincerity into those words as he could, even gently flaring his magic to emphasize his point.

"Of course," Harry said, shrugging once more. "It's kind of useless to worry about something that you can't do anything about. Plus, you're doing your best to make up for it, so it's all fine."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I wish many people had half the wisdom you do, my boy. A good day, Mr. Potter."

"I'll see you around, Headmaster."

* * *

"I'm going to miss you, Harry. You're sure you won't visit the Burrow?" Ginny asked, wrapping the emerald-eyed boy in a quick hug.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be a bit busy these next few months," Harry replied, patting the redhead on the back. "I'll do my best to owl when I can, though, so it's not like you won't hear from me."

"Reading words on a paper rarely compares to having a conversation in person, Harry," Luna said, taking her turn to embrace the boy.

"I know, Luna. Don't worry, I'll owl you as well. And remember, I'd like a yearly subscription to the Quibbler for my birthday- I'm sick of the drivel in the Daily Prophet."

"Of course, Harry. I'm sure Daddy will be more than pleased," Luna said, smiling brilliantly. Harry ruffled her silver hair, marveling at how pixie-like she was.

"Well, you girls best get going- don't want all the good compartments to be taken, right?"

With a jaunty wave and final farewells, the young ladies were gone.

* * *

"Oh?"

"What's this we see?"

"Is the marvelous?

"The stunningly handsome?

"The absolutely fantastic Harry Potter?"

"Cozying up to ickle Ginny?"

"Come off it, mates." Harry smiled, shoving the Twins gently. They staggered back dramatically, looking for all the world like they had been shot by a Muggle firearm. "She's not so bad once she isn't fantasizing about being _Mrs. Ginevra Potter_ every second of the day."

"You're telling us, mate!"

"Least you didn't have to live with her back then!"

The three shared a final laugh, and the Weasley terrors boarded the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

"I suppose I'll see you next year, Harry?" Hermione asked nervously, fretting with the hem of her shirt.

"Depends on if I survive. You know me- I'm a magnet for trouble."

"Harry, that's horrible!"

Harry just laughed. "Looks like Lavender and Parvati are waiting for you. I'll see you in September, 'Mione."

He turned around to head back to the castle, but was surprised when arms encircled his torso from behind. Hermione's chin rested on his shoulder for a moment, and he could feel her face burning against his own.

"Bye, Harry," she whispered into his ear, then let go and took off running, her shoes clicking against the stone floor. He scratched at his cheek in confusion, but didn't turn around to watch the bushy-haired girl's retreat.

"Maybe next year _will_ be better?"

* * *

"What do I name you, hm?" Harry wondered out loud, scratching the crown of his new pet's head. He was sitting in the Chamber of Secrets, since the Headmaster would only permit him to keep the creature if he didn't take it out of here.

_Mother_, the Basilisk hissed, tongue flicking out to brush up against his hand.

"I do wish you would learn _my_ name, though… How about Naga? Short, simple, and fairly easy to pronounce. What say you, Naga?"

_Mother_.

"Right. You can't formulate sentences yet. How annoying… Whatever. I now dub thee Naga, or however that works. Now, I've wasted enough time down here. I'm going to the Room to do some drills. Go to sleep, or whatever you do. See you later, Naga."

_Mother_.

* * *

"So, how do we start this, Headmaster?"

"Have you done as I instructed, and worked on clearing your mind?"

"Yeah. Wasn't that hard, considering I tend to not think most of the time, so…"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, that would explain how you end up in trouble as often as you do." Harry squawked indignantly. Dumbledore looked Harry straight in the eye, and the two were whisked away into the boy's mind.

* * *

They were in a room. Perfectly empty, walls and floor made of simple stone. No door, no windows. Light came from an invisible source.

"Hullo, Headmaster!" Harry cried, appearing next to the old man. He tottered about, keeping half an eye on Dumbledore, who was busy examining the room.

"Hm, not even a crack- not that I can see, at least. This is quite well done, Mr. Potter. With this, we can move onto the next phase."

Pulling out of his student's mind, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. Harry blinked, and seemed dazed for a moment, before shaking his head to clear the fog.

"Alright there, dear boy?" the Headmaster asked, amused. It was a common reaction for those not experienced in the Mind Arts.

"Yeah, I think. Just took me a moment to get out of there… Is it possible for a person to be trapped within their own mind?"

Dumbledore stroked his long beard, pondering the question. "I presume it might be, though I've never heard of a case where they were accidentally trapped. Rather, it is far more common for an adequately-accomplished Occlumens to purposefully separate their mind from their body during times of incredible physical duress, to escape from the discomfort, and being unable to reconnect them. Sometimes, through the use of Legilimency, it is possible to retrieve the free-floating mind, but many times the person is too far gone."

Harry shivered. "Well, it's a good thing I'm used to pain. Wouldn't want to be doing something like that."

Dumbledore frowned at the admission, but could not actually refute it. "Yes, I suppose. Though it is unfortunate, your past experiences have made you much stronger." Harry nodded, seemingly not uncomfortable with the topic at all, so the old man took heart. "Now, you will be using your newfound control over your mind to organize your memories. You can do so however you like, but I've found the most common way to do so is to group them together in ways that make sense to you. Also, memories can be copied, so they can be placed in two groups. For example... The Stunning Spell can be placed in both _Dueling Spells _and _All Spells I know._ Are you following, my boy?"

Harry tilted his head this way and that, before nodding hesitantly. "I guess, but it'll probably take a while. Can I do a little bit now so you can check my progress?"

"Yes, you may. I will get some paperwork out of the way in the meanwhile, so you don't need to worry about disturbances."

* * *

Back in Harry's mind, Dumbledore noticed that there were now things in the room. Specifically, several sheets of parchment stuck to the wall. The Headmaster walked over and read a few. The Stunning Spell, Shield Charm, Disarming Charm, and many other spells useful for dueling.

Then, the room shifted, and along with it came a new set of parchment. The same spells from before were there, as well as things not exactly useful in battles. For example, the Unlocking Charm. Dumbledore smiled- it seemed the boy had taken his words quite literally. However, his methods were a bit strange. He retreated back to the physical world to speak with his student.

"Mr. Potter, I must say that your way of doing things is quite... _Odd._"

Harry blinked, confused. "How do you mean, Headmaster?"

"Well, normally, an Occlumens will keep all their memories at the forefront of their mind, but simply partition them with doors, or different rooms and levels of a building, accessible by stairs. That is not exactly what I saw in your head- it seems that you hide away the memories you are not using at the moment."

"What? No I'm not. I'm just _focusing_ on those ones. There's a difference… I think." Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow, and Harry grumbled a bit. "Go back in and see- I'll show you!"

The old man did so, chuckling quietly at the ire in the boy's tone.

He was back in the room of dueling spells. However, just when he was wondering if anything had changed, two of the adjacent walls dropped out, revealing a massive expansion to this room. As far as Dumbledore could see, an incredible amount of paper littered the floor. Some of it was stacked neatly, some of it tossed there in haphazard piles- there was even a Muggle filing cabinet!

"I _told_ you!" Harry said petulantly, appearing next to the Headmaster with his arms crossed.

"Yes, I suppose you did, dear boy. Mind telling me what you did?"

"I just dropped away the wall. That stuff was always there."

Dumbledore tilted his head, slightly confused. Normally, mental walls were meant to be unmovable, unbreakable, the first line of defense. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone use them simply for separation.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand… Tell me, Mr. Potter, what exactly was your inspiration for this mindscape? You need not answer if you don't want to, since I understand that it may be personal."

"Personal? No, not really. It's the Room of Requirement, Headmaster."

"...The what?"

* * *

"So _this_ is where you have been throughout the year? I had thought you were sleeping in one of the abandoned classrooms, to be honest."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "How'd you know I wasn't in the Tower?"

"Ms. Granger reported it to Professor McGonagall, who reported it to me. She was quite worried when you didn't turn up for an entire week."

"Oh. Well, I'm not going back, since the Room is much better."

"If that is what you wish, then I'll not stand in your way. Now, if you could explain the workings of this room? I'm afraid I was unaware of its existence until today."

"Really? I thought you always knew. The House Elves did, so I just figured… Whatever. All you have to do is think of what you want, and if the Room has it, you'll get it. Like, I used it for a bedroom, bathroom, and training area. There's also the Room of Hidden Things, which is where most of the random stuff comes from."

With those words, the Room of Requirement shifted so fast that Dumbledore couldn't comprehend it. One moment, they were standing in a blank room that greatly resembled Harry's mindscape when he emptied it of all thought, then they were in a place with veritable mountains of miscellaneous objects. He saw clothes, books, potion vials, an assortment of rusted weaponry, trunks, various pieces of furniture, and all sorts of bits and bobs. It was astounding.

"Well, I suppose I can understand your inspiration. This is truly _marvelous_… The pinnacle of spatial alteration. To think, all this and more fit into one area, which can change size as necessary… It is unfortunate that you do not have more information, dear boy."

"Well, if you want information…"

The Room shifted again. The many piles of objects vanished, leaving behind an empty cavern. A massive trenched was carved into the floor, separating the cave in two with a river. However, it wasn't an ordinary river. What looked like glowing, bright blue water, was not water at all. It wasn't even liquid. It was…

"Magic… This is a Leyline…" Dumbledore muttered reverently, taking a hesitant step forward. The old man noticed the unevenness of the floor beneath his shoes, looked down, and gasped once more. Covering the floors, and even crawling up the walls, were enough runes to fill Hogwarts' Library. They were tiny, carved with precision rarely seen in the modern day.

"A what?" Harry asked, reminding the old man of his presence.

"A Leyline. An incredibly high concentration of magic originating from the Earth's core. Hogwarts itself is built upon three of them, which contributes to its nearly impenetrable defenses. Even if the Room of Requirement has access to only one, it would explain how it has the energy to do what it does without draining the castle's wards."

"Who goes there!?" a voice yelled, startling both the boy and the Headmaster. They jumped, whipping around to find the voice. It seemed to originate from the far side of the cavern, which was rife with pillars.

Warily, the two walked over, wands at the ready. They turned a few corners, eyes flitting over every surface as they circled each pillar individually. There was nothing on any of the columns, but they did find something in the small section of the cave behind the numerous spires. It was a portrait on the wall, depicting a woman. As expected of a magical portrait, it was animated.

The woman had jet-black hair, flowing down her shoulders and back, long enough that it fell out of sight. A tiara adorned her forehead. A gold-trimmed blue robe hung on her shoulders, with a low cut that exposed her collarbones. She might have been beautiful, if not for the intense frown lines marring her face.

"I say once more, _who are you!?_" she shouted, scowling thunderously.

Harry and Dumbledore exchanged glances, tucking away their wands, and the old man stepped forward.

"Greetings, madam. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Might I ask for _your_ name in return?"

She seemed to become angrier. "Can't you read, you daft bastard!?" She gestured wildly to the plaque at the bottom of her portrait.

_Rowena Ravenclaw._

* * *

Ravenclaw's yelling echoed around the Headmaster's Office, greatly disturbing anything with intelligence. Fawkes tucked his head into his wings, eventually vanishing in a flash of fire when he couldn't handle it anymore. The Sorting Hat sounded like it was crying. The other portrait frames lining the walls were empty, their inhabitants having fled, and Harry felt like it would be a good idea to follow their lead.

"If it's all the same to you, Headmaster, I think I'm just gonna go…"

Harry rose to his feet, but a flick of Dumbledore's wand had him back in his seat, glowing ropes tying him to the chair. Harry gaped in shock and betrayal, but the Headmaster just glared at him for even daring to run. He would not be left to suffer alone!

While Harry was sulking in his restraints, Dumbledore finally threw up a Silencing Charm, and the portrait quieted down against her will. Her artificial face went red with rage, blood vessels threatening to tear through her painted skin and spew crimson dye everywhere.

"I do believe you have gone on long enough. Now, are you going to be civil, or shall I simply leave you like that?" Dumbledore asked irately. He was not a saint, and he most definitely did not have the patience of one.

Ravenclaw crossed her arms, glaring daggers at the old man. However, she finally closed her mouth. Nodding in finality, Dumbledore waved his wand once more, cancelling his spell. The painting drew in a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself.

"I'll have you know I do not appreciate your treatment of me," Ravenclaw said, voice choked and shaking with barely-restrained anger.

"And _I_ do not appreciate your attempts to blow out our eardrums, so the feeling is mutual," Dumbledore shot back with surprising vitriol. "Now, what were you doing in that cavern?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think, you-!" She stopped when Dumbledore's wand rose in the air once more. "...I was placed there by my original self to be of assistance should the runes of the Room ever falter. They are all tied together, so in the event that any are tampered with, the hidden entrance will become visible, and the cavern will be brought to the forefront for ease of access."

"And what if the switching mechanism is destroyed?"

"That particular set is protected by shields linked to the castle itself. So long as Hogwarts stands, the Room of Requirement will function. Now, it is my turn to ask questions! Where do you get off, dragging me out of there!?"

"You just so happen to be the only portrait of one of the Four Founders which we have ever found- of _course _we are going to bring you somewhere we can make use of you!"

Ravenclaw's glare was positively scathing. "If you wanted someone to chit chat with, then why don't you find one of the others!? Go get Salazar from his filthy Chamber! He's a lonely bastard, he'll jump at the chance to talk with someone! Or better yet, get Helga from her kitchens; she'd be too drunk to get mad! Now, put me back in the cavern!"

"Wait, we already checked the Chamber of Secrets!" Harry piped up. "The only thing we found was Naga's egg!"

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Naga?"

"Yeah, that's what I named him. It's nice, right?"

"Obviously _you_ wouldn't find it, you fool!" Ravenclaw interrupted, looking like she was tempted to throw the book in her hand at him. "He put a password on the room hiding it. He told me the password in English; _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_ That arrogant sod, the only thing he was great at was pissing off everyone around him! Not that I expect you'll be able to make use of it, since he had it keyed to Parseltongue, and that ability is incredibly rare."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "How else do you think we got into the Chamber?" he asked innocently. Ravenclaw opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, looking incensed.

"_Listen here, you worthless-!_"

"And that's enough of _that_!" Dumbledore cried, putting up another Silencing Charm. He turned to Harry. "Well, dear boy, you heard her. Would you like to go down to the Chamber and find Slytherin's portrait, while I go find Hufflepuff's?"

"See, I _would_, but _somebody_ thought it'd be a good idea to tie me to this chair."

"Oh! My apologies, Mr. Potter. I forgot about that."

Harry glared at him, and finally rose. "Even if I _do_ find it, how am I gonna get to it if it's somewhere high up? I don't know any self-levitation spells."

"... I hadn't thought of that. Looks like we will have to-"

Fawkes chose that moment to reappear in a swirl of fire, perched on Harry's shoulder. Thankfully, the phoenix had control over his flames, or half of Harry's face would have been burned.

"Or Fawkes could assist you! Marvelous timing, old friend!" Fawkes chirped happily at the praise, then poked Harry with a wing tip.

"Well, let's be on our way, dear boy."

* * *

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!" _Harry shouted, his hissing echoing throughout the Chamber. Far above him, the jaw of Slytherin's statue began to grind open, and Harry stared at it, confused.

"Maybe it's the same as the Room, and different sections open for different phrases?" he asked Fawkes, who merely squawked in response.

_Mother_, Naga said, from his position wrapped around Harry's shoulders like a scarf. The boy ignored that, holding a hand out to grab onto one of Fawkes' skinny legs. The phoenix began beating its wings, and the odd trio lifted off the ground with ease. They touched down in the stone mouth, and Harry tossed a _Lumos_ into the air. This time, there was no tunnel at the back of Slytherin's throat. Instead, there was a wall, and fixed right in the center, as Ravenclaw had said, was the portrait of the Founder himself.

"Hullo?" Harry called, inching forward. Slytherin was a middle-aged man, evident by the bald patch on the top of his head. However, he still had shoulder-length black hair running down the sides and back, which was slightly shiny with grease. His face was clean-shaven, not even an ounce of stubble visible. His skin was pale, almost sickly, cheeks slightly gaunt. His eyes, however, held power- enough to make Harry shiver. They were a brilliant emerald-green, and would have likely glowed had this not been a painting. He wore green robes, with a gray cloak draped over his shoulders. A gold locket adorned his neck.

Slytherin blinked, seemingly startled by the noise. "Hello?" he replied, head tilted quizzically. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter. I've been sent to fetch your portrait."

"Well, by all means, do so with haste, young man! I'm quite sick of being holed up down here- honestly, I don't know _what_ I was thinking, placing my portrait in here. The _height_ of madness! How is Basil, by the way?"

"Who?"

"Basil? My Basilisk? Last I saw her, she was only… Oh, I'd say about ten feet in length, but I don't know how long it's been since then."

"...Oh. This is awkward."

"What? Why?"

Rather than respond, Harry flicked his wand at the portrait, Levitating it off the wall, and bringing it towards the front of the statue's mouth. He angled it, so Slytherin could see all the way to the ground.

"Is that Basil!?" he cried, seemingly overjoyed. "She's gotten so large! Basil! Look here, Basil!"

The Basilisk did not move.

"Boy, why is she not answering me?" Slytherin asked, sounding distressed. He continued calling to the corpse, and Harry took pity on the portrait.

"She's, uh… Basil's dead, sir."

"W-what?"

"A few months ago, someone ordered her to start attacking students. I had to kill her, or the school would've been shut down."

"Y-you couldn't talk her down?"

"I tried, but I think the other Parselmouth had full control of her, because she wouldn't even respond."

And then the sobbing started. Slytherin's wails were loud and ugly, his keening gasps raising to high enough pitch that Harry began to develop a headache. He exchanged an awkward glance with Fawkes, who merely ruffled his feathers.

"S-she was my _baby_! My _only_ friend! Why-y-y!?"

Harry pursed his lips. A flick of his wand sent Naga down to the floor far below. Then, he grabbed onto Fawkes with one hand, and Slytherin's crying portrait with the other. In a flash of flames, they vanished from the Chamber.

_Mother_.

* * *

They reappeared in the Headmaster's Office, the current owner of which looked like he wanted to die. The portrait of Ravenclaw was arguing fiercely with a painting of another woman, presumably Helga Hufflepuff. She was a chubby brunette, hair pulled into two braid which hung down in front of her shoulders. She was actually rather attractive, with her gentle wrinkles and symmetrical features. Unfortunately, the image was ruined by her glazed eyes, and the wine she spilled down her front-laced yellow dress every time she took a sip from her goblet.

"All I'm sayin' Rowena, is that ya could stan' to get nailed every now and then!" Hufflepuff slurred, taking a sloshing swig of alcohol.

"You can whore yourself out to as many men as you wish, Helga, but don't you _dare_ try to drag me into it!"

The cries of Slytherin interrupted the two, and they looked over to the trio of Harry, Fawkes, and portrait.

"Salazar, you absolute pansy, stop your disgusting whining!" Ravenclaw shouted.

"Oi, Sal, that you?" Hufflepuff asked. "Why don' ya come on over and show me if that _snake_ of yours is as long as I remember?" She giggled drunkenly, winking at her fellow portrait.

At the word _snake_, Salazar was reminded of Basil, and his sobbing redoubled.

Harry smiled nervously. "Is this a bad time, Headmaster?"

* * *

Harry managed to successfully flee the office this time, much to the displeasure of the old man, if the disgruntled shouts to _stop running, dammit!_ were any indication. Whatever knowledge the Founders may have, it wasn't worth putting up with _that_.

"Jeez, it's only been a week, but so much has already happened… Maybe I should write to Ginny and Luna?" he wondered out loud. Deciding that was a good idea, since he had nothing else to do at the moment other than train, he went to do just that. He ran to the Room of Requirement, and summoned two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He sat down at a table, and began writing.

* * *

_Ginny,_

_How's life? Have Fred and George driven you up the wall and around the bend yet? Have you decided on whether or not you want to play on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team next year? I think you should, since the current Seeker- whose name I don't actually know- is apparently pants. Oliver was even begging me, on his hands and knees, to reconsider my decision to quit, so I'd say your odds of making the cut are quite good._

_Is Ron still being a prat about you hanging out with me? I could send you a list of useful spells to make him shut up, if you'd like?_

_I've been doing fine myself. Got a new pet, but he's kind of dangerous, so I can't show him to you. If Hedwig's all out of sorts, then it's probably because she's jealous that I've been spending more time with Naga than her recently, but that's not really my fault. He only hatched a few weeks ago, so he still needs a bit of help, and Hedwig's a big girl. I don't think she'll listen to me, though, so could you try explaining that to her?_

_Are you prepared for next year? Since it's my Third Year, I'm starting electives, but I think the only one I'm going to take is Ancient Runes. The rest seem kind of useless. Arithmancy might sound interesting, but according to the Headmaster, it's more useful in spell creation, which I don't really care about. I really hope we get a competent Defense Professor, but I wouldn't mind if the Headmaster had to sub again. He's much better than Lockhart and Quirrell. If not, oh well. I might just start skipping that class, since it's useless to waste my time with a worthless Professor. _

_By the way, I'd recommend not going to History anymore, and use that time to do other, more useful things. You can read the textbook towards the end of the year, and probably still pass the final exam. Binns doesn't do attendance, so it'd be easy. Just don't tell anyone else, since I don't know if he'll notice that he's talking to an empty classroom. Then again, knowing Binns, he probably won't._

_Try not to tell anyone this, either, but me and the Headmaster have been exploring the castle a bit, and we found the portraits of three of the Founders; Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. No clue where Gryffindor is, but that's whatever. They are absolutely nothing like what'd you expect, though. Ravenclaw yells at everything that moves, and she's incredibly rude. Hufflepuff is apparently a drunken scarlet woman, and Slytherin is an emotional mess. Last I saw, he was crying about his dead pet._

_That's all from me at the moment. I'll write if anything else major happens, so bye for now._

_Harry Potter_

* * *

_Luna,_

_You're probably busy out in some far away place, searching for some magical creature whose name I can't pronounce, so I'll keep this short._

_How have you been? And, if you are on an expedition, where to, and what have you found so far? I've never been outside of the U.K, so I'd love to hear about what it's like in a different country._

_I'm doing well myself. Staying at Hogwarts is incredibly eventful, and it's only the first week! I'm actually rather scared about what disasters I'll get into next, so if you've got any special insights, now would be the time to tell me._

_That's all from me. It's fine if you don't respond, I'll just assume you don't have access to an owl wherever you are. We'll talk more in September, and I'll tell you everything I left out of this message. Bye for now._

_Harry Potter_

* * *

Harry was right; Hedwig was _not_ happy with him. He forgot to bring any owl treats from his trunk as bribery, so he had to deal with nipped fingers and pecks to the head, while he tried tying the two rolls of parchment to the snowy owl's legs.

"Sorry, girl, but Naga needs a lot of help. I have to bring him food, since the Headmaster won't let him out of the Chamber, but I promise I'll spend more time with you once he's grown up enough."

That did hardly anything to quell the bird's irritation, but at least she stopped trying to maul him. It was good enough for the moment.

"Wait a bit for Ginny to give you her response. I don't want to force Errol to fly all the way to Scotland. He's got enough problems in his old age- don't need him dying from slamming into a window, you know. And it's fine if you can't find Luna, since she might not be in the most accessible place. Just bring her letter back if that's the case."

Hedwig squawked, flaring her wings in indignation. She seemed to take it as a personal insult that Harry was doubting her tracking her abilities, and claimed retribution by clawing him in the face. While Harry was rolling around on the floor to flee the talons, consequently getting covered in owl poop, Hedwig left through the window of the Owlery, her triumphant screech echoing through the tower. Harry glared at the opening she flew out of, then got his wand and cast a few _Scourgifys _on his robes and hair.

Walking back to the Room of Requirement, Harry couldn't help but wonder if his bad luck would hold true. What mess would he get into next year?


	3. Chapter 3

_BLACK STILL AT LARGE!_

"Professor Snape, why are you giving me this?" Harry asked tiredly. He was sitting at the faculty table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast with the rest of the summer inhabitants of Hogwarts, who were all adults. It was slightly awkward, but manageable. Dumbledore insisted the boy have at least one meal with them each day, so that he wouldn't become starved of human interaction. And so that they could be sure he hadn't somehow been offed in the middle of the night, but that part was left unsaid.

"Well, Potter, if you'd read it, maybe you would find out," Snape replied snarkily, hardly pausing in his meal. Harry sighed, but began tearing into the Daily Prophet article.

* * *

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today._

_"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."_

_Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

_"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?"_

_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse._

_For more information on Black, turn to page three (03)._

* * *

Harry turned to page three. _Son of Orion and Walburga Black… Sorted into Gryffindor in Hogwarts… Fought against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named… _Betrayed the Potters?

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, and he glanced up at Snape. The Potions Master was diligently consuming his scrambled eggs and hash, but Harry saw the smirk on his face. The boy pinched the bridge of his nose, and set the paper aside. There was no point in reading anymore- he'd just ask the Headmaster about it later. Or now, actually, since the old man was at the table with them.

"Excuse me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked, looking up from his meal.

"What do you know about Sirius Black?"

The Headmaster's fork dropped to his plate, an action mirrored by McGonagall and Flitwick nearby. The other Professors were startled enough to stop eating. Except Snape, of course. The clink of the Potions Professor's cutlery against his plate was the only noise in the Great Hall for a long moment, before Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"If you don't mind my asking, what caused you to pose that question?"

Harry picked the newspaper up, flashing the headline at the old man, who looked like he was about to have a stroke.

"_Severus!" _he shouted, shooting to his feet so abruptly that his chair tipped backwards, slamming against the floor.

"Yes, Headmaster?" the man asked demurely, seemingly unbothered. His utensils continued moving, eyes still cast down towards the table.

"Please come with me to my office."

"Of course. As soon as I finish-"

An immense pressure filled the room, causing Snape to choke on his words. His head snapped up, and he flinched at the heat in Dumbledore's eyes.

"_Now_."

Snape didn't test the old man any more, immediately rising and gliding out the room, on the heels of the Headmaster. The remaining occupants of the table glanced uneasily at each other, before hesitantly continuing their meal. They were much more subdued now.

Harry's eyebrows were quirked while he tried to figure out what had just happened, but he gave up and finished eating. He had more training to do in the Room.

* * *

Battle Transfiguration was difficult. It required so much focus, Harry could scarcely keep up with it. Conjure whatever item you needed, throw it at the opponent, usually with the use of Banishers. It was rare that the first wave of projectiles did much of anything, and they usually ended up littering the ground after being dodged/deflected. Once there, you could move them around with Banishers, Summoners, or Levitation to throw it back at the enemy. Or, you could Transfigure it from an inanimate object to an animate object to do the movement for you. If you simply Transfigured the inanimate object to another inanimate object more suited for what was needed at the moment, then you had to exert more concentration to move it around.

In battle, multiple items needed to be used at the same time to have any real effect. An enemy would have a much easier time blocking a ball from the front, than twenty from all sides. Masters could Transfigure those twenty items into various separate objects, meaning the opponent would be dodging blocks, spikes, chairs, and even the occasional cat, alongside the original ball. That was where the trouble came in. Harry had a bit of an issue with tunnel-vision, so while he was Transfiguring and moving one object, he was neglecting the rest. He needed to get better at multitasking, which is why he started with the defensive side of Battle Transfiguration first.

A number of wooden dummies produced by the Room of Requirement- six or seven, depending on how he felt that day- would launch spells at him, while he magically manipulated objects to jump in the way of his enemies' spells. As an added level of difficulty, the dolls were mobile, meaning that three could distract him from various angles, while the remaining foes gathered up, and sent a large wave of spells his way. Whenever that happened, he Transfigured the floor, causing it to rise in a wave of stone that blocked it. This method of shielding had its benefits and drawbacks, just as the Shield Charm did.

While the Shield Charm could block physical objects of certain sizes, and deflect certain spells based on the power of the caster, they could never protect against the Unforgivables. Those three particularly vile pieces of magic would punch holes right through any magical shield, shattering the entire thing and allowing the person to be bombarded, if they weren't already incapacitated and/or dead.

However, physical shields could. They would explode upon contact with an Unforgivable, but they did the job. They were also good for other physical objects. However, a _Reducto _or two would turn them to dust.

Then, there were the power requirements. _Protego_ had both a holding cost, and an impact cost. Whenever something smacked into the shield, the energy draw increased momentarily. If it was shattered, then the mental backlash would put a lesser wizard out of the fight. A physical shield only drained the amount required to Transfigure it into the required shape, but was much more fragile, far less versatile, and would obscure the user's vision if it wasn't glass.

It was all a balancing act, knowing when to use each type, for how long, in what shape. Despite what many people thought, and what Harry _used_ to think, dueling was a lot more than simply tossing spells back and forth. There were little nuances in every single thing, from where you put your foot, to how much sheer power you had. It was true that raw strength had won many wizards many duels, but the truly skilled could take the magical reserves of a First Year and lay the smackdown on someone equivalent to Albus Dumbledore. In theory. In actuality, the more powerful of the two would probably just spew explosive spells which were too strong for the merely skilled to completely block, resulting in a victory.

Harry decided to get creative, however. In his latest book, _Dueling for Masters,_ there was described something regarded as one of the most arduous endeavors for any wizard, something only incredibly experienced and titanically powerful wizards, those on the level of Albus Dumbledore, could accomplish; _wandless magic_.

Of course, since it was purely intent-based, Harry had it down in a month. He was able to wandlessly Banish, Summon, and Levitate objects, allowing him incredible control during a duel. With his wand Conjuring and Transfiguring, he was able to use his off-hand to manipulate the position of those objects, whilst simultaneously altering the shape of other things. Through extensive practice, his ability to focus on many things drastically improved- further improved by the concentration-enhancement of Occlumency- and he was soon able to move on to the offensive aspect of Battle Transfiguration.

Once more, he shocked Dumbledore in one of their weekly duels. Harry had completely hidden his progress in that field, and so was able to bust out the moves in one fell swoop, blindsiding the Headmaster. Of course, the man was hardly one to be beaten by a boy, and thoroughly thrashed his student, but the smile on the old man's face definitely made up for the bruises and welts. After that pleasant surprise, their duels once more ramped up in intensity, and Harry once more ramped up his training.

* * *

"So, what was that all about at breakfast, Headmaster?" Harry asked, lounging on the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. He'd finished his training for the day, and was a bit sick of being cooped up in the Room of Requirement.

The old man, who had been hunched over a paper, deflated with a puff of air. He put the quill he was writing with back in its inkwell, then slumped backwards in his chair.

"I'm terribly sorry you had to see that, dear boy, but what Severus did was unforgivable, and needed to be taken care of immediately. I knew he held a certain degree of… _Hostility_, towards you, but to think he would do something like _that_…"

Harry tilted his head. "I don't quite understand. Why was showing me a newspaper so horrible?"

The Headmaster removed his spectacles, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I would like to say you are too young to be told, but considering how your childhood was already ripped from you… This is quite the long story, so I hope you have nothing to attend to tonight. It begins a few years before your birth. I was down at Hogsmeade, in my brother Aberforth's tavern, the Hog's Head Inn, holding interviews for the position of the Divination Professor. That day, I met Sybill Trelawney, who I hired afterwards. As for why… There is no easy way to say this, my boy, so I will be straightforward; she made a true prophecy."

Harry blinked. "You mean all that stuff about telling the future is _real?_"

"Yes- to a degree- but that is not important at the moment. If you wish to learn more, you are always welcome to enroll in Divination as an elective for next year. Or, you can simply speak with Professor Trelawney. What _is_ important, however, are the _contents_ of that prophecy. It would be better if I showed you that bit."

Dumbledore rose from his rather comfortable chair, and bustled over to one of the shelves. From it, he pulled down a stone bowl, the bottom of which was covered in intricate patterns. Placing the bowl on the center of his desk, shoving aside the undesirable paperwork to clear a space, he sat back down heavily.

"This, is a pensieve. It allows one to view memories. To acquire the memories, all you must do is hold the tip of your wand up to your temple, and concentrate on the memory you wish to view. Magic will do the rest, but it does help to be an Occlumens, to allow for easier retrieval." Dumbledore did just as he said, and pulled a swirl of silver, misty light from his head. With a flick of his wrist, the memory detached from his wand, falling into the pensieve to fill it up.

"These memories can also be stored in vials, which is useful for long-term storage. Now, if you will merely dip a finger into the pensieve, we can begin viewing."

* * *

The room was about what one would expect from a medieval meeting room in a tavern. The floors and walls were made of warped wooden boards. Torch holsters hung near the ceiling, but instead of flaming sticks, they held orbs of light encased in glass. Not Muggle light bulbs, more like a permanent _Lumos_. The single rectangular window was split into four panes by a cross-shaped divider.

A wooden table surrounded by wooden chairs sat at the center of the room, where Dumbledore sat across from a woman Harry had never seen. She wore thick, circular glasses which didn't quite cover the heavy bags under her eyes- though that was more because the bags were incredibly large. Her frizzy, dark blonde hair was kept out of her face with a red bandana. What really caught Harry's eye was the amount of jewelry the woman wore.

More rings than she had fingers, enough necklaces and chains to ensure she had hunched shoulders in a few more years, and all those bracelets were likely to give her arthritis at some point.

She and the Headmaster spoke for a while, with the old man asking what sounded like standard questions about her records and credentials, while Trelawney answered in a daze, her voice lighter than air, and incredibly quiet. It reminded him quite a bit of Luna. Dumbledore spent most of the conversation trying to lean forward so he could actually hear her, which his aged spine likely did not appreciate much. Then, things got… _Weird_.

Trelawney's eyes rolled up into her head, and she shot to her feet like a rocket, her chair flying backwards. The woman lunged across the table, grabbing onto the startled Headmaster's shoulders with an iron grip. She began shrieking gutturally, much deeper than her normal voice.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches! Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal! But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives! The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

Trelawney collapsed suddenly, sprawling on the table top, limbs hanging over the edges. Dumbledore, who was shocked beyond words, merely watched as the woman tossed around in her unconscious state, and rolled off the table, impacting heavily with the floorboards. Still, he did not move, and the memory ended.

* * *

Harry found himself tossed haphazardly back into his chair, his body throwing itself away from the disturbing scene in the pensieve. Dumbledore was much calmer, simply removing his finger from the bowl. With two flicks of his wand, the memory was Vanished, and the pensieve Levitated back to its spot on the shelf.

Harry watched the stone bowl float through the air, but turned his attention back to the old man when he began speaking.

"I have figured out a few things about that prophecy, through much speculation and consultation with Seers around the world. First of all, there were the criteria which resulted in you becoming the child of the prophecy. _Born as the seventh month dies_ means that you would be born towards the end of July, and your birthday is July 31st, the final day of the seventh month. Next, _born to those who have thrice defied_ the Dark Lord. This was a point of heated debate, since nobody was quite sure what the word _defy_ entailed. Did it mean those who silently cursed Voldemort? Those who blocked his political maneuvers? Or those who stood against him in battle? Apparently, Voldemort decided on the final interpretation as the correct one, which is why he was able to narrow in on your parents. Your father, James, was an incredibly skilled Auror, who had faced off against Voldemort three times in the war, only narrowly avoiding being killed until reinforcements arrived. Your mother, while not a duelist, was still able to hold her own against some of Voldemort's less battle-inclined Death Eaters, which seemed to count as defying him. So, Voldemort hunted them relentlessly, becoming even more vicious upon learning that Lily was pregnant. With every encounter between your parents and the Dark Lord, the body count on both sides increased, though James and Lily managed to survive.

"Next, the issue of the _power he knows not_; _the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_. I must admit, I have no clue as to what that may be. I do not mean to insult, Mr. Potter, but you do not seem to have any outstanding talents, aside from your rather advanced skill in dueling. I sincerely hope the prophecy is not referring to _that_, though, because Voldemort has an incredible amount of experience on his side in that field. Anything you throw at him, he has likely already seen and devised a counter for, allowing him to systematically disassemble every facet of your offense, then pick apart your defense with his extensive knowledge of obscure spells. Even I, in my old age, cannot stand against him for very long. His understanding of dark magic is deep, and the things he can do with it…" The old man shuddered violently, eyes glazed, staring through Harry in that moment. It took a long moment before he regained his senses, shaking his head to snap out of his daze, ruffling his beard. "I had hoped that this power was the one which somehow reflected the Killing Curse back at Voldemort, but unfortunately, Fate did not deem it to be enough."

"I've been wondering about that," Harry said, taking this chance to speak up, despite how much he wanted to flee and curl up in the Room of Requirement, never to leave again. "The reason I'm so _famous_ is because everyone thinks I somehow managed to destroy Voldemort, even though I was literally a baby. _How _did he survive that? Also, how did _I_ survive that?"

"How _you_ survived, nobody truly knows, though I suspect Lily dabbled in rituals; at the cost of her own life, and the chance to watch you grow into a man, she was able to ensure your survival. As a mother who desperately loves her child, there are few sacrifices worth more. For Voldemort… That is of a decidedly _darker_ nature, as are most of the things he does. True, his physical form was destroyed quite thoroughly on that night, but his _spirit_, on the other hand, managed to live on. I believe you had an encounter with it in your First Year."

Harry delved into his mind, shuffling through his memories of important events in that year, and the things that stood out most to him were the Philosopher's Stone, and Quirrell, who had a Dark Lord living on the back of his head. When Quirrell had died, Harry remembered seeing a black mist rise up out of the man's mouth, shooting through the ceiling and vanishing. Honestly, Harry hadn't been sure _what_ that was, but now that he thought about it…

"Yeah. I saw him leave Quirrell's corpse. It was only a cloud of black fog, so I thought it was just some weird thing that happened when evil people died, but your explanation makes a bit more sense."

Dumbledore smiled wryly, but the expression was weak. It was quite sobering to be reminded that his student had killed one of the people who was supposed to protect him, but thankfully, the boy did not seem incredibly affected by it. Still, it would have to be addressed eventually, along with… _Other _things.

"The reason Voldemort was able to survive being turned into a formless spirit was due to the blackest of dark magic; Horcruxes. The splitting of one's very soul."

Harry's face contorted in horrified intrigue, with a healthy dose of disgust, which created quite the interesting image.

"_What…?_" he muttered, accidentally slipping into Parseltongue in his disturbed state. Dumbledore blinked, but decided not to comment on the unexpected hissing. He, too, had cycled through many languages in his rant on the abhorrent subject when he first learned of it.

Dumbledore opened one of the drawers of his desk, and pulled out a very familiar black diary. "This seems to have been Voldemort's Horcrux. He stored a piece of his soul in this diary, which is what tethered him to the mortal realm, allowing him to survive that Halloween. I'll not explain further, since simply talking about this is making me nauseous."

Harry nodded, his green skin making it obvious that he agreed completely.

"Still, it is odd that the diary no longer seems to be a Horcrux… As far as I know, there are only three ways to destroy one; basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and the Killing Curse. However, all three leave visible evidence of the destruction, yet the diary is intact. It is most odd…"

Harry slowly became pale, alerting Dumbledore. "Mr. Potter?"

"C-can you… Bring back the pensieve?"

* * *

Dumbledore was trembling. He didn't know what to make of what he had just seen, but he definitely knew that it could not be good.

"Mr. Potter… _Harry_… Would you be able to explain to me what just happened?"

"I… May or may not have… _Absorbed _the Horcrux?"

The Headmaster inhaled deeply, and exhaled just as loudly. He put on a calm face, exerting his Occlumency to prevent himself from exploding at the student, who seemed even more scared than he had been.

"You said your scar caused you immense pain, correct?"

"Y-yeah. I only felt really warm at first, but my scar started burning when the heat reached it."

Dumbledore casually pulled out his wand, pointing it at the boy, who flinched. Dumbledore stilled his hand for just a moment. "Relax, my boy, I am merely going to perform a few diagnostic spells, to check something."

Harry's muscles slowly loosened up, and the Headmaster's wand began to twirl quickly. Light after light flashed in front of Harry, and the boy had no clue how the Headmaster was keeping up with it. Finally, after the rainbow had passed in front of him about a dozen times, Dumbledore lowered his hand. He reached down into one of his drawers again, and pulled out… _Whiskey?_

The old man popped the cap, and started _chugging_. Within a minute, the bottle was empty, and the Headmaster belched loudly, before carelessly tossing the glass behind him, where it shattered.

"H… Headmaster?"

Steam was pouring out of the old man's ears like a train whistle, and only when it stopped did he regard the boy, seemingly calmer now.

"Apologies for such unsightly behavior, Harry, but I felt that it was necessary, all things considered."

Harry just nodded slowly.

"Now that I'm all liquored up, I feel that I can be incredibly blunt with you, and simply blame any consequences on the alcohol. Are you ready, my boy? Yes? Good. Somehow, on that Halloween night, aside from getting himself blown up, Voldemort seemed to accidentally make you a Horcrux. The piece of his soul was stuck in your forehead, where your scar is. It seems that when it interacted with the soul in the diary, it broke through the magical blocks I had put in place to prevent the thing from infecting your mind, and the two pieces merged together. Judging by the diagnostic charms I have just cast, they do not seem to be affecting you in any way, other than a noticeable increase in your magic reserves, which were already quite large for your age. I believe the pain you felt was only caused by the forceful disabling of the blocks I mentioned, which is actually quite lucky, since you'll likely need to do it again. If Voldemort's soul was unstable enough that he could _accidentally_ create a Horcrux, that means he's ripped his spirit apart multiple times. As such, there are more Horcruxes out there, which is _incredibly_ problematic, if I do say so myself. We'll have to get rid of them if we ever want to truly end the threat of Voldemort. Oh, and by the way, Voldemort's real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. It's getting annoying, constantly referring to him as _Voldemort_, when I can simply call him _Tom_. And now, that is all I have to say- wait, no it isn't.

"You came asking about Sirius Black. Very well. At some point, your parents became sick of constantly running away from Voldemort, and asked me to help them set up enchantments on a home which they could hide away in. I placed the Fidelius Charm on it, which blocks a property from all the senses, magical included. The drawback of the Fidelius, however, is the need for a Secret Keeper. The existence of the hidden property is the Secret, which _then_ needs to be hidden in the soul of somebody. It cannot be either the caster or the owner of the house, since an incredible amount of magic is already running through them, and to attempt it would kill them both, and level the surrounding area. So, Sirius Black was James and Lily's Secret Keeper. The thing about being the Secret Keeper is that they are the _only_ ones who can divulge the secret- even the caster and homeowner are unable to do that. Black went to Voldemort and shared the Secret, Voldemort found Godric's Hollow, and things went tits-up from there. Within the last month or so, Black escaped from Azkaban, the most high-security Wizarding prison in the world, and it's suspected he'll come after you to finish what his master started. _Now_ that is all I have to say. A good evening, dear boy!"

With that, Dumbledore pulled out another bottle of alcohol, which he immediately began to guzzle, while Harry walked out of the Headmaster's Office in a daze. Before he could even reach the bottom of the steps, he heard an earthshaking belch, the shattering of glass, and the slamming of a drawer once more.

* * *

Harry was sitting in the Room of Requirement, trying desperately to sort through his thoughts. Had he not been a budding Occlumens, he would have likely been overwhelmed. As it was, though, he managed to delve into his mind, examining and rewatching each memory, continuously rereading the sheets of paper which held the information in a text form. Why his brain was set up like that, Harry had no clue, but it likely stemmed from the habit he'd developed of noting down all his known spells on parchment throughout Second Year.

_Horcruxes, Secret Keepers, prophecies… What the bloody hell have I gotten myself into? Maybe it would've been easier if Vol… _Tom, _succeeded all those years ago. At least, then I wouldn't have to deal with Sirius Black apparently coming to murder me._

With that rather dismal thought, Harry exited his mindscape, and set to work on further training. If the Dark Lord's right-hand man was hunting him, then he needed to be prepared. That meant it was time to stop playing with the kiddie gloves, and allow the training dummies to cast lethal spells at him. He'd also need much better combat spells, which meant delving into the darker side of magic, since they were simply so much more versatile. He would start with a single dummy, and slowly work his way back up to the seven he was used to facing off against.

Hopefully, he wouldn't die just training. That would be pretty anticlimactic.

* * *

In the morning, a visit to the Library under his Invisibility Cloak granted him access to the Restricted Section, which Harry immediately began scouring. One book, in particular, caught his attention; _Magick Moste Evile_. Considering it used those archaic spellings, there was a fairly high chance that it had something useful. Also, the fact that it was in the Restricted Section was telling.

Harry spent an hour or two flipping through the book, committing everything worthwhile

to memory with the help of his Occlumency. There were quite a few curses in there that seemed quite promising; Disintegration, Blasting, and even Entrail-Expelling, which was incredibly disturbing when he thought about it. Still, if it would give him the edge in a battle against an experienced, bloodthirsty Death Eater, then he'd take it.

* * *

"My clothes are getting tight…" Harry muttered, stretching this way and that, only for his movement to be noticeably restricted, sleeves riding up his wrists and ankles. They were hand-me downs from when Dudley was about ten or so, and Harry was only now the same size as the younger version of his fat cousin.

With a sigh, Harry realized he'd need to go shopping. He'd also need to go to Diagon Alley, to pick up all his school supplies, and get a bit of cash from his trust vault. Did Gringotts exchange galleons for pounds? Probably. They _were_ a bank, after all.

Down at the breakfast table, he turned to Dumbledore when they'd both finished their meals.

"Headmaster, I need to go to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies, and then I'll need to make a stop in London to buy some new clothes. My current ones no longer fit quite right."

The old man seemed thoughtful for a moment, before nodding. "Very well. However, you will need a chaperone- there is no telling what may happen outside of Hogwarts' wards. Hmm… How about you, Severus?"

Snape looked up from his plate, blinking slowly. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but _what?_"

"You are the only one not currently busy, what with Minerva preparing for the incoming First Year Muggleborns, Filius participating in a duelling tournament out in the Continent-"

"Wait, Professor Flitwick's in a dueling tournament?" Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes, I forgot he doesn't disclose that information to his students anymore, since they tend to be quite insistent that he teach them. But, yes, Filius is quite the accomplished duelist. Seven-time international champion, I believe."

Harry's eyes were sparkling, and Dumbledore turned back to Snape with a chuckle. "As I was saying, Pomona is busy with some of the more dangerous plants in the greenhouses, which requires immense concentration; she has no time for distractions. And the only other adult currently in this castle would be Sybill, who we can both agree is unfit to be a chaperone."

"What about you?" Snape asked, eyes narrowed.

"I, coincidentally, have an I.C.W meeting to attend. The magical settlement of Wakanda has been running into a few issues with rival tribes, and they have asked the I.C.W for some advice. Speaking of which, I must go now- if that situation escalates too far, it could throw the entirety of Magical Africa into turmoil. Have fun on your trip, you two!"

With that, Dumbledore strode quickly out of the room leaving Harry and Snape to stare at each other. Snape's scowl was a bit less pronounced than usual. Apparently, Dumbledore's scolding the other day had put out his fiery hatred. It'd probably be roaring like a blast furnace in no time, though.

"So…" Harry said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Come then, brat. Let's get this out of the way."

Snape rose, and Harry followed.

* * *

Shooting out the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry, for once in his life, did not fall on his face. Albeit, that was probably because Snape, who had gone before him, was there to stop his fall with an iron grip on his arm, but still. Small victories.

"Thanks," Harry said, dusting the ash off his robes. Snape nodded wordlessly, and walked over to the hidden entrance. A few taps of his wand, and Diagon Alley was revealed to the two.

The hustle and bustle of the place used to amaze Harry every time. Things flying around, animated window displays, adult witches and wizards in full magical dress, sometimes even complete with the stereotypical pointy hat- it just seemed so _magical_ to him. Hogwarts was all well and good, but here, in Diagon Alley, Harry could really _see_ magic at work. Now, though… It was just loud. It no longer seemed impressive, not when he was used to a rainbow of spells flying through the air at nearly all times in the Room of Requirement. The people staring at him with awe were especially annoying.

"Alright, Professor, you can go do whatever it is you do."

Snape raised an eyebrow at the boy. "The Headmaster specifically said not to leave you alone."

"What he doesn't know won't kill him. Probably. He might have a stroke if he ever finds out, though, so definitely don't say anything."

Snape's normally-cruel smirk seemed more amused now. "Well, in that case, I shall be conducting business down in Knockturn Alley. Here is your Vault Key- the Headmaster gave it to me on his way out. We'll meet back in the Leaky Cauldron in the evening."

Harry took the key, nodded, and waved as he walked away from the Professor. First stop, Gringotts. He needed some cash.

* * *

"What do you mean, _which vault _do I want to access?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like, Mr. Potter," the goblin said irately, "_Which vault are you going to be accessing today?_"

"Oh… Well, what are the choices?"

Griphook's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What games are you playing, _wizard_?"

Harry took a step back, hand ready to go for his wand. "I'm not playing any games. I just wasn't aware that there was anything other than my Trust Vault."

Griphook blinked, confused, though his anger remained. If anything, it seemed to deepen. "How could you be unaware of the other vaults?" the goblin growled.

"Nobody ever bothered to tell me! And this is my first time coming to Gringotts where I wasn't just pushed into a minecart and sent on my way!"

The goblin gritted his teeth, seemingly ready to burst a blood vessel. He stood and walked around the counter, pushing through the divider between the accountant and customer sides. Harry tensed up, but relaxed slightly when Griphook began walking away from him.

"Follow me!" Griphook called behind, not bothering to look back. They wove through the back halls of Gringotts, stopping in front of an office, with a plaque on the door reading _Nagnok_. Griphook opened the door without even knocking.

"Nagnok!" Griphook said loudly, agitation bleeding into his already-rough voice. "This is Harry Potter- says he doesn't know anything about his Vaults. Deal with him, he's holding up the lines."

With that, Griphook shoved past Harry and exited the room, leaving the young Wizard alone with the other goblin.

"Sit, Mr. Potter," Nagnok said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. He was just as gruff as Griphook, though seemingly more pleasant, if only slightly. Harry did as he was commanded. Nagnok dug through one of his desk drawers for a little bit. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a needle, placing them both in front of the boy.

"Put a drop of blood on that paper. It will confirm you are truly Harry James Potter."

Harry did so, idly amazed how the wound healed instantly. Nagnok examined the paper, and nodded.

"Alright then, Mr. Potter. What seems to be the problem?" Nagnok asked, leaning forward to steeple his hands on the desk.

"Like Griphook said, I don't really know anything about my vaults. I thought I only had the Trust Vault, but apparently, there's more."

Nagnok nodded. "Which vault you can access depends on your status in the family. For example, if you were the Lord of the House Potter, then you would have complete control of the Potter Family Vaults. You may also be a member of other families, so it is likely you will have access to other vaults, though that will be restricted. A simple blood test will allow us to determine these things, since being part of a family, whether through birth or blood-adoption, alters your blood." Nagnok shoved forward another piece of paper, along with the needle from before. "Put a drop of blood on that."

Within a few moments, a variety of colors appeared on the paper, which only Nagnok seemed to be able to interpret.

"Let's see… Heir Apparent to House Potter by birth, Heir Presumptive to House Peverell by birth- made Heir Apparent by right of conquest- Heir Presumptive to House Black by blood-adoption, Heir Apparent to House Gryffindor by recognition of a family artifact, and Heir Apparent to House Slytherin by right of conquest. Quite the list there, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head was spinning, for the second time in as many days. _Wait, _Black? _As in _Sirius _Black? And what's up with the Founders? Recognition by a family artifact… The Sword of Gryffindor? Probably. Right of conquest might have come from that whole Heir of Slytherin mess last year. Did defeating Tom like that really count as a victory? He was a memory, though… A memory of Voldemort. Is that what it's talking about? That Halloween night? I didn't do anything to beat him- that was probably all my mother. Unless, she gained it, and then it got passed down to me? And what the heck is Peverell?_

"...Potter! Mr. Potter!"

Harry was broken from his turmoil by Nagnok's increasingly loud calls. The boy quickly filed that stuff away for later, and turned his attention to the goblin.

"Uh, sorry, just… It's a lot to take in. What's this whole _presumptive _and _apparent_ business?"

"An Heir Presumptive is the person likely to become the next Lord of the House. However, there is always the possibility of another being chosen by the current Lord. The Heir Apparent is guaranteed to become the next Lord, even if the current Lord no longer wishes otherwise. That is why, today, most nobles are hesitant to assign that role. However, with the more ancient families- such as Peverell, Slytherin, and Gryffindor- there are a few other factors which can lead to becoming Heir Apparent. These can be set up or rescinded at any time by the current Lord, though it is a practice that has fallen out of favor. Most common was the right of conquest; if the Heir Presumptive initiates a battle with another Wizard and loses, then the victor becomes the Heir Apparent, regardless of their relation to the family before the battle. This was used to flesh out weakness in the family, since the Lords of those times had much more realistic views on failure. In the case of House Peverell, of which there were two Heir Presumptives, a battle between them resulted in one being made the Heir Apparent. Recognition of an artifact is usually only something established by the progenitor of a blood line. Whatever heirloom they pass down can be infused with the beliefs of the original wielder through certain rituals, and should it recognize those in another, then that person will be made the Heir Apparent."

Harry nodded dumbly, lips parted slightly and eyes wide with amazement. Nagnok sighed, knowing he had lost the boy. "Basically, you _will_ become the Lord of Houses Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Nothing short of death will change that. As for House Black, there is the possibility of the current Lord Black changing your status. However, that is highly unlikely, considering he is on the run from the Aurors, and as such, would likely stay away from Gringotts."

"Sirius Black is the current Lord?"

"Yes. He also happens to be the one who blood-adopted you."

_The one who betrayed my parents and got them murdered also made me the Heir of his House? What the bloody hell…?_

"Right. Gonna ignore that little tidbit for now. So, which vaults can I access?"

Nagnok seemed amused by Harry's bluntness. "For the Houses which you are Heir Apparent of, you have full access to all their vaults. Normally, as the Heir Presumptive, you would have access to about half of the Black Family Vault, but it seems that Lord Black has decided to give you unrestricted access to all the vaults. So, which would you like to visit?"

"Uh… I think I'll just stick to the Potter Trust Vault for now. I don't have the keys for the other ones anyways."

"Very well. We will send you all the keys by owl once copies are made. Do you have any other questions?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, before deciding that he did. "How do I become Lord for those Houses?"

"You will automatically become Lord upon reaching your majority, which is seventeen years of age for you Wizards. Or, you can do so earlier by becoming emancipated. When either happens, your Heir Rings will transform into your Lordship Rings, indicating your new status."

"Heir Rings?"

"Ah, yes. Figures you wouldn't have those either. One moment."

Nagnok dug around in his drawers some more, but for far longer this time. Finally, he pulled out a stone bowl. It reminded Harry of the pensieve, though much less ornate. The rock was completely smooth, without any kind of pattern whatsoever. Nagnok shuffled aside the papers on his desk, then set the bowl down in the empty space.

"Fill this bowl with your blood, then dip your hand in it." Nagnok handed over a silver knife, and Harry took it gingerly. Holding his left palm over the bowl, he slashed a quick line across the center of it, and watched in surprise as blood began rushing out in a torrent- faster than he would have thought. In a few seconds, however, the wound closed up, leaving the stone bowl filled to the brim with crimson. Harry gave back the knife, and dipped his left hand in. It took a moment, but the blood started to bubble, then steam.

Harry watched in awe as the life-giving liquid began to congeal, then shrink until it surrounded the base of each of his fingers- aside from his thumb- in cylinders of solid blood. After a few moments of contortion, each circle hardened, and began to shift even more, until four rings sat upon his fingers. Each was quite long, covering from the knuckle to the first joint, but shaped in a way such that it didn't interfere with the movement of his fingers.

On his index finger sat a golden band, rubies lodged into it, one massive red gem embedded on the top. Carved into it was a lion, standing on its hind paws, forepaws raised and poised to attack. Harry knew exactly which one this was, considering it was his Hogwarts House. Until he got evicted by his housemates, that is. This was the Gryffindor ring.

His middle finger held a ring incredibly similar to the Gryffindor ring; gold band, rubies, and lion engraving. However, the design contained multiple lions, who were simply laying on their stomachs next to each other, feline faces turned so that the entirety of their majestic manes could be seen. Perhaps the Potter Ring? It was apparently common knowledge that Potters had always been sorted into Gryffindor House since the first one to enter Hogwarts, so...

The ring finger was where things changed. A _silver _band, covered in a black stone. Given the purplish tint, Harry assumed it was obsidian or something of the sort. It depicted a series of shapes; a circle inside of a triangle, with a straight line vertically bisecting the both of them. He had no clue which House this ring represented.

On his pinky, there was another silver ring. This one had sapphires dotting it, a large emerald with a snake inscribed into it as the centerpiece. Obviously, the Slytherin Ring.

_Wait, that's only four. Where's…?_

The final ring was still in the bowl; apparently, it wouldn't fit itself to his thumb. He picked up the silver band, taking note of the onyx implants. This ring had a simple skull design. The boy slipped it onto his right middle finger.

Harry clenched his left hand into a fist, admiring the way the cool metal pressed against his skin, running a finger over the smooth crystals. It was almost like one of the Muggle knuckle dusters he'd seen in those old gangster movies on the telly.

_I'm gonna punch somebody with these._

Nagnok's guttural laughter startled Harry, causing him to realize he'd accidentally spoken aloud, and he flushed a bit. He stayed quiet, though. He didn't want to embarass himself more while trying to fix things.

"Aye, a fine first reaction, Mr. Potter! Just, try not to act on it until you're _outside_ the bank? When you do, however, keep in mind that those rings are bound to your soul by your blood- so long as you are alive, they will not break. Feel free to run wild."

Harry nodded silently.

"Now, with all that aside, would you like to go visit your vaults now?"

Another nod.

"Then go back out to the front desks, and tell Griphook. A good day to you, Mr. Potter."

* * *

Harry walked out of Gringotts with a weightless pouch full of about five thousand galleons, and a credit card with ten thousand pounds on it. The currency exchange rate was about one hundred pounds to the galleon, so in all, his Trust Vault was now fifty-one hundred galleons emptier. Considering it held up to twenty thousand, that wasn't really much, and there were all the other vaults he had access too, so... It wasn't like he'd use up all of that, anyways. He'd only gotten so much so he wouldn't have to go Gringotts again for a while. Those minecarts were not easy on the stomach.

First stop; a new trunk. His old one had been a ratty thing in the first place, and two years had not been kind to it. Custom commissions were a thing, apparently. With a bag full of money in his pocket, Harry decided to go a bit crazy. The maximum seven compartments (books, potion supplies, clothes, school supplies, his broom and the accompanying cleaning supplies, and then two empty compartments, just to have), armed to the wooden teeth with as many security wards as the trunk could handle, which included blood locks and interference alerts. It would be made of almost-black ebony wood, with a fine silver trim. On top of the lid would be a series of runes that activated at the tap of a wand. Weightless, shrinking, full lockdown, compartment selection, and others. In the center of that mess were Harry's initials; HJP, carved into the wood, the indents filled with emerald. Obviously, the entire thing was charmed to be unbreakable, resist wear-and-tear, fireproof, waterproof, and so on.

It would take a good while for the shop owner to throw that together, which is why Harry went there first. He needed to have a trunk if he wanted to carry around all those new items, and he'd left his old one at the castle. Harry paid eight hundred galleons upfront, which he did not regret in the slightest.

* * *

Next, Ollivander's.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core. Intact, meticulously cleaned, well-worn… You've put that wand through its paces, lad. Quite remarkable, considering you've only had it for about three years."

"Uh… Yeah, I guess." Harry was more than a bit freaked out that the wandcrafter somehow knew all that, when said wand was still in his robe pocket. Was the man a Seer or something? "I'm here for a wand holster."

"Yes, yes, please allow me a moment to go fetch one from the back. Dragonhide, I'm assuming?"

Harry blinked. He was completely unaware what materials could be used, which seemed to be becoming a trend. Ollivander, the intuitive man that he was, caught on quickly.

"Dragonhide is what many Aurors use, as it is quite durable. In a pinch, a dragonhide holster can be used to block an errant spell, but it likely won't survive intact. Other materials include demiguise hair, turning it and the wand invisible when holstered, acromantula silk for comfort, or… Yes, I suppose that could work. How about basilisk hide?"

Harry froze. Nobody aside from himself and the Headmaster should have known about the basilisk- not even Ginny, because she'd been unconscious or possessed the entire time.

"How…?"

"Let's not worry about that, Mr. Potter. Rather, I think you should come back once you've got some basilisk hide for me to work with. You can also use it to create armor, which I would highly recommend. The spell-resistance of basilisk scales is on par with that of dragon scales when they are about one month old, and only improves beyond that. Why, if a Basilisk were to survive for a thousand years, I believe its scales would be able to deflect the Killing Curse!"

Harry nodded dumbly, and left the wandmaker's store empty-handed, his words filed away with the use of Occlumency. He'd definitely have to remember that.

* * *

Madame Malkin's wasn't as bad as it was the first two times around. Although, that was probably because of the distinct lack of Draco Malfoy. It also helped that the store was empty, save for Harry himself. A few minutes under the measuring tapes, a few tailoring charms by the woman, and his school robes were fitted and made. Just because he could, he asked that they be made of acromantula silk, costing twenty galleons per robe. It was well worth it, however, when he slipped one on. It felt like water flowing down his body, and Madame Malkin laughed at the awe on his face.

He also purchased a few sets of custom-fitted acromantula silk trousers and sweaters, which were to be worn under the robes as part of Hogwarts' dress code. For another galleon or two, Madame Malkin would add Heating and Cooling Charms, which reacted with the outside temperature to ensure maximum comfort. They could be manually activated as well, since the charms could also sense the intent of the wearer. Harry nearly jumped for joy once he heard that; no more freezing to death in the Astronomy Tower on those winter nights, or in the Potions Dungeon every single class. He changed in the back room, unwilling to walk around in those slightly-small Dursley hand-me-downs for a second longer than necessary, and very nearly lost the will to move. In fact, he sat down on one of the plush couches, and simply reveled in the temperature control for a good five minutes.

Once he was done messing around, everything was packed into bags, shrunk down, and stuffed into a pocket.

* * *

By now, his trunk was complete, so he ducked in to retrieve it, dumping his new clothes inside so they wouldn't fall out of his pockets by accident. The next few stops went by quickly. A couple bags of owl treats- Hedwig had been a bit more nippy than usual lately- some extra quills and stacks of parchment, the recommended potion ingredients kit, a new telescope (he'd dropped his old one, causing the lens to shatter), and the necessary books from Flourish and Blotts. Harry only bothered to buy some extra books to help him with Ancient Runes, because as a Ministry-monitored store, it probably wouldn't have any Dark Arts spell books. He'd have to stick to the Hogwarts Library and Room of Requirement for that. Speaking of which, why hasn't he asked the Room for books on the Dark Arts? Surely there were a few _somewhere_ in the Room of Hidden Things? Oh well, something to remember for later.

Looking in the sky, it seemed halfway between afternoon and evening, giving him a few hours before he had to meet Snape at the Leaky Cauldron. His Diagon Alley shopping was mostly done, leaving only a trip to London to get some Muggle clothing. Acromantula silk was comfy as all hell, but he knew he'd get sick of it eventually. Still, he had to wait for the professor. He wouldn't risk going out in the Muggle world unattended, especially with Sirius Black running amok.

And then, something caught his eye. A shop he'd never noticed before; Oculus' Odd Oculars. He had no clue what any of that meant, but decided to check it out. He had the time. Walking in, Harry was a bit surprised to see rows upon rows of glasses lining the walls. Some of them were as atrocious as his own moon-shaped spectacles, but others were sleek, slim, stylish, and Harry couldn't stop his feet from wandering over. One frame in particular caught his eyes; it was purely black, save for a streak of emerald green running down the center of the sides. It was like it was made for him.

"Can I help you, sir?" a voice asked from behind Harry, startling him. He whirled around so quickly it shocked the speaker- a blonde woman- and she let out a quiet shriek.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, honest," Harry said, scratching at his cheek in embarrassment.

"N-no, that was my fault! I have a really bad habit of walking up to people when they aren't facing me, so of course I'm going to surprise them a bit! Terribly sorry!"

Harry chuckled. "No, it's fine. And, yeah, I suppose you could help me. I'd like to buy this frame." Harry plucked the black-and-green pair off the wall, holding them up for the lady to see.

She brightened up, happy that he wasn't going to hold a grudge. "Are you a first-time customer?" Harry nodded. "Well, if you'll come this way, we'll have our opto-medic check you out and write you your prescription, Mister…?"

"Harry Potter."

The assistant- her name tag identified her as Lucy- paused in her step, blinked, glanced at his scar, and continued on as if nothing happened. Harry heaved a quiet sigh of relief; last time he'd been recognized in public, the person had shouted his name loud enough for the whole of Diagon Alley to hear, and that was _not_ fun. Thankfully, Lucy was a bit more subtle. Hopefully, she'd stay that way.

* * *

Getting his eyes tested was a novel experience for Harry, even though it involved little more than a few diagnostic spells from the opto-medic. Like all diagnostic spells, the only thing Harry saw was a bunch of colored lights, which the medic somehow interpreted as _bad_, if his frown was anything to go by.

"May I see your glasses for a moment?"

Harry handed them over, and a slew of spells were cast on them. The medic seemed grim.

"I'll be blunt with you, Mr. Potter; I'm surprised you aren't blind. These glasses are an abhorrent match for your already-terrible vision, and would only serve to further worsen matters. Had you waited a few more years, you would likely only be able to vaguely make out shapes and colors, glasses or not. Did a professional opto-medic prescribe these to you?"

Harry blinked. Today was apparently just a day of surprises.

"Uh, no. My Muggle Aunt picked them up out of a Salvation Army box one day, and that was that."

The man dropped the glasses, and they clattered against the floor. Harry stared at them for a moment, barely able to make out the black shape against the cream carpet. Then, he looked back up at the man.

"Would you be willing to tell me _why_?"

"...She and her family didn't like me much."

The opto-medic's eyes narrowed dangerously, not that Harry could tell.

"Mr. Potter, I believe a trip to St. Mungo's would be in order."

* * *

_So many tests. At this rate, I'm going to be traumatised and develop a fear of hospitals_, Harry thought morbidly, eliciting a grim smile, which slightly panicked the medics attending to him. They were already on high alert, since absolutely nobody involved liked what they found out. The kid looking like he'd resigned himself to death row was _not_ helping.

Barely-healed fractures on ninety percent of his bones, internal bruising, numerous nasty scars both inside and out, and an incredible number of signs of physical trauma- well into the triple digits. Everything from his pinky toe to his skull had been smacked around at some point in time, and most of the healers there wouldn't have hesitated to call these the results of torture, pure and simple.

And to think, they found this all out after investigating because an opto-medic didn't like where a kid got his glasses. They were immensely grateful, thanking the man profusely for his vigilance and for bringing this to them, then set to work on Harry.

Bones were Vanished, incredibly-high concentrations of Skele-Gro were administered, healing spells flew, potions were drunk, and a room was set up. They wanted to monitor the boy for at least a week, view his eating habits, run more tests, see how he acclimated to the intense regiment of healing. Ideally, they would've kept him for about a month, but Harry was insistent that he make it to school on time. Unfortunately, he was overruled rather quickly.

For the first two weeks, Harry wished he could just die and get this over with, a sentiment which he voiced many times, much to the consternation of the medical staff- they'd definitely be sending him over to the Mind Healers after this.

To Harry, it seemed that whenever he blinked, another nurse was there with a tray of potions in hand, forcing the vile concoctions down his throat, then leaving him to his suffering. Time became non-existent, unconsciousness claiming him at random times. His appetite skyrocketed, and he was soon eating a full meal every hour, scarfing the food down then asking for more. Sometimes, he'd pass out mid-bite, only to wake up to a polished plate and a roaring stomach. His mind was a mess, even his passable skills in Occlumency unable to help him make sense of much of anything at the moment.

For two weeks, Harry wallowed in misery. And then, suddenly, it was over. Sort of. He was finally allowed to get out of the bed- or he was finally _able_ to, whichever one- and move around a bit, so it was something. Each step hurt, sending pangs of pain throughout his entire body, but the boy powered on, shuffling around like a zombie, barely registering the encouraging words of the nurse. He made it to the door, and nearly collapsed, holding onto the frame for dear life, and that was when the nurse called for a wheelchair to be brought over. He collapsed into the mobile seat like a blob of jelly, and the woman strolled him through the halls of St. Mungo's, speaking to him the whole while. Harry couldn't understand any of it, thoughts muddled, vision swimming. The world was slowed.

In a few years, he'd get drunk for the first time, and recall this sensation. He'd also realize that being under the influence of alcohol was so much more pleasant, hangover included.

* * *

He was being set into a rather comfy chair. It was more like a bed, actually, long enough for him to lay down on, though the backrest was angled so Harry was halfway between sitting up straight and laying down. He sunk slightly into the chair. _I could get used to this_.

"...Potter? Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked, shaking his head. He turned to the voice, and saw a brown-haired woman, calling out to him. She seemed a few moments away from reaching over with a leg and booting him off the chair.

"'M up, I'm up…" Harry muttered, pushing himself up the couch slightly. He hissed a bit when the bones in his arms began throbbing, but ignored it for the meantime.

"Finally," the woman muttered quietly, though Harry still managed to hear her. Her tone turned gentle, and Harry got the feeling it was genuine, despite her earlier comment. "My name is Andromeda Tonks. I'm the Mind Healer who's been assigned to help you with any problems you may have, but I won't force you to do anything. If you'd rather sit here in silence, then we can do exactly that."

Harry blinked again. "Mind Healer? What for?"

"Well, the mediwitches told me that you've been saying some rather… _Disturbing_, things during your treatment." The boy looked lost, so Andromeda elaborated. "You've repeatedly stated that you wish to… To die."

Realization dawned on his face. "Oh, right. I wasn't being serious, mind you. Everything just hurt, and I didn't really know what was going on. Still don't, to be honest. So, I just probably started saying random things."

Andromeda's eyes softened for some reason, like she was trying to be comforting or consoling. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about that now. Let's change the topic- how's your summer been?"

"Uh, no, let's _not_ change the topic, because I've got to set something straight so I can get the hell up out of here. I do _not_ want to die. And if I did, I would've already done it. I've had plenty of opportunities, trust me."

Andromeda blinked, seemingly unsure what to say to that. "...Would you care to elaborate on that, Mr. Potter? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Harry sighed. "Right, I suppose _you_ wouldn't know. First Year, my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has Voldemort attached to the back of his head, and they tried to kill me, but I killed them first. Well, I only killed Quirrell, because Voldemort's soul-thing managed to escape, but that's whatever, I guess. See, _if_ I wanted to die, I would've just rolled over and let Quirrell- Volde- _Quirrelmort, _dammit, that shite's obnoxious! Who the hell does something like that, anyways!? Honestly, it was so _disgusting_! I'd rather kill myself than let some piece of shite live on the back of my head like that!"

Andromeda was staring silently at him, something indecipherable in her eyes, but Harry had a clue as to what it was. "Hey, don't look at me like that! I only said I'd kill myself if Voldemort tried to attach himself to the back of my head, which is basically a fate worse than death. He made Quirrell drink _unicorn blood _to keep him alive, for god's sake! I'm perfectly justified! You can ask the Headmaster if you don't believe me!"

Andromeda nodded slowly, seemingly dazed. Harry sighed once more. It seemed he hadn't gotten through to her yet. "Can we be done for today? I'm exhausted." It wasn't even a lie, either. So, with Andromeda's go-ahead, a nurse came into the room, dropped him in a wheelchair, and wheeled him back to his own room. Once in his rather comfortable bed, he fell asleep instantly.

* * *

The next two weeks were much the same. Sleep at random times, eat enough to make Ronald Weasley envious, and chug so many potions he'd basically become a Potions Master by association. The only difference was that he was actually coherent when he was awake, and the meetings with Andromeda.

He was quite irritated that those had to continue. Honestly, there was _nothing_ wrong with him, and he did _not_ want to die. Unfortunately, suicidal people apparently had a habit of trying not to make other people worry, and said they were fine, only to toss themselves off a building the next day. Still, it was irritating.

Damn if it wasn't effective, though. Apparently, talking about things really did make the metaphysical burden lighter. Harry had taken to blabbering wildly during those meetings, going until he was tired. He talked about anything and everything under the sun; schoolwork, his favorite activities, the shit-show that was Second Year, the bigger shit-show that was his home life with the Dursleys, and other things. The more he spoke, the more Andromeda wrote, but she thankfully didn't ask about the few things he _was_ hiding, like the Chamber of Secrets, his new pet, or some of Vernon's more brutal beatings. She also didn't let him go, though, so he continued talking right up until he was released from St. Mungo's.

Apparently, it took the entirety of those two weeks for Andromeda to determine that he actually wasn't suicidal. Once she did, she let him go, and by then, his physical treatment was also mostly over. He was given several bottles of a nutrient potion, which he was to drink with every meal until he ran out. There were enough for a month. When he was done with them, he'd have to come back in for another checkup, to determine if he needed more, or was fine to stop taking them. Then, the doctors told him what was done.

The short of it is, they somehow managed to correct just about all the damage done to him in his childhood, and as a result, he'd grown to the size he was supposed to be. The reason it hurt so much was because he'd grown half a foot, bringing him to a decent size of about five-foot-five. He'd continue growing normally from there, and it was projected that he'd finally stop at around six feet even, which Harry was quite happy to hear. Being tiny had been okay when he was a Seeker, but since he no longer played Quidditch, it had gotten fairly annoying.

They'd also managed to fix his eyes, for the most part. According to the doctors, they'd done the best they could, but the damage was simply too extensive. Still, Harry could actually read _without_ his glasses, which was quite the achievement for him. Albeit, they had to be rather large letters less than a foot from his face, but still. It was better than before. And, with his new glasses- which actually had a matching prescription- the world was so clear, Harry wondered if he'd actually been blind before.

There was one downside to this whole thing, though; his new clothes definitely didn't fit anymore. It was rather annoying, since he spent a good five hundred galleons on all of it. He'd had to transfigure the clothes the medics had retrieved from his trunk, which had been kept in his hospital room for the duration of his stay.

The day he'd been released was a Saturday, so Harry floo'd from St. Mungo's over to the Leaky Cauldron, and went about his business in Diagon Alley. While in Madame Malkin's, he'd asked about forms of transportation other than the Floo. There was Apparition, which required a licence one could only get at sixteen, Portkeys, which required special permission from the Ministry to be made, and the Knight Bus. All you had to do was poke your wand in their air, and channel a bit of magic into it. It cost two sickles per ride.

Once he'd gotten all his new uniform sets (and returned the old ones, since he couldn't do much of anything with them now), Harry stood outside the Leaky Cauldron and called the Knight Bus. With a bang, a purple, triple-deckered Muggle bus appeared in front of him, nearly giving Harry a heart attack. He managed to contain his shock, however, and approached the vehicle cautiously.

The doors swung open, revealing a young blond man, wearing an odd purple-black uniform. He tipped his hat at Harry.

"Mornin' lad! Where ya goin'?"

"Muggle London." Harry flicked a pair of silver coins at the man, who caught them with a deft hand, then turned to the seats. Immediately, Harry swore to himself that he'd learn to Apparate, illegal or not. None of the chairs were bolted down- made obvious by the way they were strewn about- and if the sudden entrance was any clue, then the Knight Bus was rather rowdy. It did not help that the other passengers there looked all sorts of messed up, spilling halfway out of their displaced seats, clothes ruffled or slipping off, hats still in the air from when they flew off. Harry warily took a seat, and the Knight Bus began moving.

It was worse than he thought. The driver turned like wild, whipping this way and that all while chugging along at double Muggle highway speeds. Harry, in a desperate bid to not fly around and probably get a concussion, planted himself in place with Sticking Charms on his feet. At least, he tried, but the bus took an incredibly sharp left at that exact moment, tilting so that it was only on one set of wheels. Harry was tossed into the air, and in the confusion, accidentally stuck his shoes to the window, leaving him standing horizontally when the vehicle finally right itself.

To his amazement, he stayed like that, entirely unaffected by the wild movement of the Knight Bus. So, Harry stood on the window for the rest of the ride, which only took five minutes. Embarrassingly enough, when he let go of the Sticking Charms, he flopped onto the floor, not having remembered that he wasn't standing on the ground. With a groan, Harry shoved himself to his feet, and staggered out of the bus as fast as he could. Despite the traumatizing experience, Harry learned something useful, which he would definitely be making use of once he got back to the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Now that he actually had money, Harry decided to splurge a bit. He bought jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, sweaters, sweatpants, socks, underwear, and a pair of emerald green and obsidian black shoes. The cashier looked at him like he was crazy when he saddled up to the register, loaded down with so much stuff, only to leave and come back fifteen minutes later with even _more_ stuff. Still, he paid for everything with his Gringotts credit card, so the Muggle said nothing, even as they watched the boy exit the store with all those bags on his arms, seemingly not struggling in the slightest. Unbeknownst to the cashier, Harry had cast wandless Feather-light Charms on all the bags, so the weight of twenty became the weight of one. Outside the shop, Harry ducked into an alley, shrunk everything, and shoved it into his trunk. He'd sort it later.

Calling the Knight Bus again, he traveled back to the Leaky Cauldron- keeping his feet firmly stuck to the ground this time- and floo'd to the Three Broomsticks. Once there, he greeted Madam Rosmerta, who was a bit surprised that a student would be coming through the floo, and exited the building. He immediately ran into some other students.

"Potter?" one of them asked. A girl with platinum-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. A Slytherin, going by her robes.

"...Yes?"

"Oh, it's _Potter_," another drawled, and that was when Harry noticed Draco. Behind him was the constant presence of Crabbe and Goyle, scowling at him. Pansy Parkinson was hanging off Draco's arm, alternating between glaring at the blonde girl and Harry, or staring adoringly at Draco. A dark-skinned boy hung a bit towards the back, seemingly uninterested in the entire affair.

"Uh, hi? What're you guys doing down here?"

"I think a better question would be, what are _you_ doing down here, when you haven't even been in school for the past week? What, too embarrassed to show your face or something?" Draco asked, smirking imperiously.

"No, I just got here. Floo'd in from the Leaky Cauldron, had some last-minute shopping to do."

Draco raised an eyebrow. " Did you have to wait in Diagon Alley until some kind soul finally gave you the last few knuts you needed to buy your supplies, hm? So poor you needed to resort to begging, _Potty_?"

Harry blinked, head tilted. "...Right. I think I'm just gonna go."

"Wait, Potter," the blonde girl called. "What's that, on your hand?"

Harry glanced down at his right hand, not seeing anything weird. "Um…"

"On your left, I meant."

Still nothing out of place. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes. "The _rings_, Potter!"

"_Oh._ Why didn't you just _say_ that? Anyways, what about them?"

"Are those _Heir_ Rings?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"_Five_ of them? Which Houses?"

"Alright, you're asking way too many questions for someone whose name I don't know."

The girl recoiled as if struck, before glaring harshly at him. Draco decided now would be a good time to butt in.

"Potter, are you really so stupid you can't even recognize one of your yearmates? This is Daphne Greengrass, of the Noble House of Greengrass. You should treat her with respect, Potter; she's far above your station." He sent the girl a smirk, as if expecting her to swoon at his defense of her. Instead, she just ignored him, keeping her focus on Harry's rings.

"Which Houses?" she asked again, walking closer so she could see.

"Hm… Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Black." He held up his hands for the girl to see, and she gasped.

"You're not joking…" Greengrass muttered, fingers ghosting over the centerpieces of each ring. Draco scowled.

"Telling lies, Potter? There's no way you can be the heir to either of the Founders' Houses, and _definitely_ not House Black. _That _is for _me_."

"Malfoy, you can't fake these kinds of rings!" Greengrass snapped. "Look at them!" She grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him over to the blond ponce. Draco's face screwed up into an even fiercer glare upon his examination.

"That's not _possible_!" Draco screeched, voice turning reedy. Pansy let go of him in shock, taking a step back to protect her eardrums. "_I_ am supposed to be the Heir of House Black- my father said that, because of my mother, I would be next in line as the sole male of Black blood!"

"What about Sirius Black, though?" Harry asked, head tilted to the side.

"He was _supposed_ to die in Azkaban, and then I'd inherit the Lordship!"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think that was ever going to happen. Black blood-adopted me before he got thrown into prison, or so the goblins said. Of course, now he's coming to kill me, so I guess it might actually work out that way at some point."

What little color Draco's alabaster skin had vanished abruptly. He turned around mechanically, and walked away, gesturing for his posse to follow.

Harry sighed, scratching at the back of his head. "Shite, that little ponce is annoying."

"I have to agree, Potter."

Harry looked to his left. Greengrass was still there. "Why aren't you leaving with Draco?"

"I've had about enough of that idiot and his attempts to impress me."

"Then why were you with him in the first place? Actually, why are any of you down here?"

Greengrass looked at him weirdly. "Don't you know about the Hogsmeade weekend visits? All Third Years and up are allowed to do it, granted they get a permission form signed by their legal guardians."

"I actually didn't know about that. That still doesn't explain why you were down here with Draco."

Greengrass regarded him for a moment. "You know that the Malfoy family has a lot of political power, right?"

"If you mean, they throw around a lot of money, then yes."

The blonde smiled. "Well, my family does not. It's in my best interest to stick around someone who can… _Protect_ me from those who would hurt me."

Harry frowned a bit. "Doesn't make much sense when that protection is just as likely to hurt you as anyone else."

Greengrass nodded, seemingly pleased that he understood. "_Exactly_. Which is why I have _you_ now."

"What."

"Come on, Potter, you're the Heir of five Houses, all of which are Most Ancient and Noble. Even House Malfoy is only Most Noble, since they've only been in Magical Britain for a little less than a thousand years. Once they reach the thousand year marker, they will become Ancient, but they'll have to wait another thousand years to become _Most_ Ancient. Are you following?"

"Yeah, and it all sounds like shite. I don't care. Just say you wanna be friends."

"Fine. Potter, I want to be friends, since you are more powerful than Malfoy."

"Drop that last bit, and I might consider it."

Greengrass rolled her eyes. "Potter, I want to be friends."

"Granted. Now, since we're friends, you have to call me Harry. Only my enemies or Professors call me by my last name."

Greengrass sighed, but seemed amused, her lips curling up in a slight smirk. "Fine, _Harry_. Happy?"

"Very much so, Daphne. Now, what is there to do down here?"

* * *

**I don't know shit about politics, or banking, or pretty much anything, so that whole Gringotts bit is just a bunch of poor speculation. **

**The reason Harry's rings cover the entire lower half of his fingers (from knuckle to first joint) is because they represent Heirship of Most Ancient and Noble Houses. Obviously, such rich/powerful Houses would probably have something a bit nicer than some shitty circles. And, yes, he **_**is**_ **going to punch someone with them.**

**Daphne's probably OOC as fuck. Then again, she's not really a major part in canon, so I don't think anybody can really say how she acts. It's just become commonly agreed upon that she's an Ice Queen, I think.**

**I also happen to not know shit about Hospitals, so forgive the St. Mungo's scene. I tried to gloss over as much of it as possible to make it look somewhat accurate. As for the Mind Healer, yes, I realize that she was basically a therapist, but they probably can't **_**always**_ **just Legilimize the patient.**

**K bai :D**


	4. Chapter 4

Surprisingly, the teachers were not particularly upset that Harry had missed the entire first week of school. He picked up his schedule from McGonagall when he returned from Hogsmeade on Saturday evening, after a delightful day out with Daphne Greengrass. Then, he ran around the castle, chatting with the other professors to get all the work he missed. It was mostly review work, which some of them said to simply ignore, since they remembered his improved performance last year, so they thought there was not really any point.

Snape was not even snappy. Sure, he insulted Harry, but that seemed to simply be an ingrained reflex at this point. The man knew exactly why Harry had to go to St. Mungo's, since Harry told him before leaving on that day a month ago. Apparently, Snape seemed to realize that Harry Potter was _not_ a spoiled brat, but an abused child- much like him, though that part went unsaid. It helped that, upon doing a bit of soul-searching, Snape remembered that Harry had never exactly acted like James Potter- no pranks, no bullying, no insane rule-flouting, no constant conflicts... Well, there was a lot of fighting last year, but that was more defense on the boy's side, since the school seemed to collectively decide that a law had been passed stating that Harry Potter must be attacked on sight. Other than looking like the man whom Severus Snape hated with a passion, there was not much similarity. Even the looks were offset by Lily Evans'- he'd never think of her as _Potter_\- emerald green eyes. So, Snape could ignore something as simple as facial structure and hair color.

The new Defense Professor was a man named Remus Lupin, who apparently knew, and was friends with, Harry's parents. He seemed nice enough, if a bit too thin. At the very least, he was neither incredibly conceited nor a stuttering mess, so there was promise. He'd just have to wait and see.

Professor Babbling of Ancient Runes was a bit cross with him, but understood once he'd explained his situation. She assigned him some runes to memorize for Monday's class, with a warning that failing to prepare now would destroy him later on.

Surprisingly, Hagrid was the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, which Harry only took to fill in the second required elective slot. Divination and Muggle Studies were definitely a waste of time, and like he'd told Ginny, Arithmancy was more for spell creation/modification, which he wasn't interested in. Hagrid also gave him a piece of advice; apparently, the book they purchased for that class had a special opening mechanism. If you didn't stroke the spine of the thing, it would try and bite your fingers off, which Harry filed away with Occlumency. He was quite fond of his fingers. Other than that, there was nothing he really missed, besides a few periods of interacting with flobberworms and salamanders.

Sunday was spent finishing the little bit of missed work he was given, turning it all in, and then training hard in the Room of Requirement. After a month of lazing about, coupled with his growth spurt- he was still eating a lot, but managed to limit it to just three meals a day- nearly all of his physical progress was gone, save for the strengthening. He had to retrain his footwork and dodging skills, as well as his aim. The only positive was the increased strength and stamina he'd gained, which lent itself well to continuous repetition, allowing him to gain some ground.

* * *

Monday morning was… _Odd_. Harry had gone on his morning run around the perimeter of the castle when he'd stumbled across some weird creature. It was vaguely humanoid, floating in the air, clad in tattered black robes, a hood covering its head. Well, if it _had_ a head. When the thing turned to Harry, skeletal arms and bony fingers held limply in front of it, Harry could see absolutely nothing beneath its hood. It was almost like there was a void where the head should have been. Black smoke wafted of the creature.

It drifted over slowly, and grabbed one of Harry's hands in its own. Idly, the boy noted that the thing's fingers were quite cold. It smelled faintly of rot, and made quite wheezing noises, which may have been its breathing.

"What exactly _are_ you…?" Harry asked it, not receiving an answer. Instead, the thing just squeezed his hand and let go, but remained hovering near him.

"Would you like to join me on my run?"

No answer. Harry took off at a brisk jog. A few minutes later, he looked back, and saw the thing floating sedately alongside him. Apparently, it _did_ want to join him, and Harry smiled lightly. It was always nice to make new friends. Hopefully, it wouldn't abandon him like his very first one.

Speaking of non-human friends, he really needed to check on Naga. So, after his run, and waving goodbye to the ghastly being, Harry wandered over to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Thankfully, the ghost did not come out to bug him, so Harry just descended into the Chamber of Secrets. One long jog later, and he was standing in front of Slytherin's statue.

"Naga?" Harry called, looking around, occasionally moving to glance behind pillars. Suddenly, quick as lightning, something wrapped around his leg, causing him to almost trip mid-stride. He was barely able to save himself by grabbing onto a nearby pillar. Looking down, he saw the green, scaly hide of his friend, though it was much thicker than before. Trailing his eyes up the baby basilisk, Harry couldn't help but smile. Naga, who was once small enough to drape over his shoulders like a scarf, was now probably longer than he was tall, including his new height.

_Mother_.

Harry reached down and grabbed the snake's head and midsection, the rest of which wrapped around him in a serpentine hug.

"Hi, Naga. Did you miss me?"

_Yes. Food._

Harry gasped, feeling distinctly like a proud father. "Since when have you started speaking? Anyways, I brought you something. When was the last time you ate?" Harry asked, Summoning the piece of meat he'd dropped by the kitchen to grab, and dropped it by his feet. He'd set it by the foot of Slytherin's statue while he went to look for Naga.

_Long_. _Sleep long._

Harry frowned a bit. The poor thing probably hadn't eaten since his impromptu incarceration at St. Mungo's.

"Sleep? Did you hibernate?"

_Yes_.

"Aw, sorry. I didn't mean to leave like that, but I got stuck somewhere, and they wouldn't let me leave."

_Is. Okay._

Harry grinned widely, stroking the crown of the basilisk, who reveled in his warmth. Naga slithered down his body, and attacked the bloody beef, jaw unhinging to shove the whole thing down his gullet. Meanwhile, Harry was stroking the rest of the snake's body, noticing some places where scales were beginning to flake off. He wondered how many times Naga had shed so far. Which reminded him, he needed to get someone to help him skin the dead basilisk. He should put Naga up in Slytherin's statue- didn't exactly want to tear apart his mother right in front of him. With a flick of his wand, Naga went rocketing up into the air, into the waiting maw of Slytherin.

_Bye. Mother._

"Bye!" Harry called, waving at the snake, even though he couldn't see the gesture. With that, Harry left the Chamber of Secrets through the way he came.

* * *

Harry quickly rushed up to the Room of Requirement for a shower, changing into his new acromantula school uniform, packing all the necessary books, parchments, quills, and inkwell into his bag, and took off for the Great Hall. He needed to talk to the Headmaster, who was always in the Hall for breakfast, so he may as well kill two birds with one stone.

"Headmaster!" Harry called, once he neared the staff table. The old man looked up, and smiled at him. A few of the other Professors waved at him, and returned to their own conversations, giving him some privacy.

"Ah, Mr. Potter! Nice to finally see you back. I trust your stay at St. Mungo's went well? Although, judging by your new look, I'd say things went marvelously. Your spectacles, in particular, are quite stylish.

"Thanks, Headmaster! Once I saw them, I knew I had to have them. The medics did a number on me- fixed up all types of old injuries. Even made my eyes better; I can actually see now!"

Dumbledore blinked, confused, so Harry continued on. "Apparently, my old prescription was a horrible match, so everything was blurry even when I wore my glasses. It's fine now, though. Anyways, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to know if we could do anything with the scales of the basilisk in the Chamber. When I went to get a wand holster at Ollivander's, he said that the hide of a really old basilisk would make for better material than dragonhide."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Yes, I suppose we _should_. It's a waste to simply let it rot down there, when there's so much that could be done… I will contact Gringotts. I know that the goblins are skilled at stripping hides from an animal, which is why they often work with dragon preserves. It will be quite expensive, Mr. Potter- I hope you are prepared for a large bill."

Harry rubbed his left thumb over the rings on the same hand. "I don't think money will be much of a problem, Headmaster."

Excellent!" the old man said, clapping his hands together in joy. "Now, why don't you go sit down with your friends and get something to eat? Miss Weasley and Miss Granger seem quite intent on burning holes into you with their stares."

Harry did as was suggested, rushing over to the Gryffindor table. He gave quick, one-armed hugs to both Hermione and Ginny, who split apart so he could sit between them. Harry grabbed a plate of eggs, another of bacon, and a rack of toast. He quickly slapped the three foods together to make a sandwich, devoured it, then made another. The process continued until the toast rack was empty and the plates mostly clean, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. His stomach had been _killing_ him.

_Wait, I forgot-_

A vial suddenly appeared in front of him, and Harry smiled. "Thanks, Pitts," he muttered, then chugged the potion down, grimacing at the taste. He chased it with some water- he'd never really gotten around to developing a taste for pumpkin juice. It just rubbed him the wrong way. Ginny and Hermione were staring at him with wide eyes while he wiped his hands and mouth with a wet napkin, water conjured with a flick of a finger.

"What's up, girls?"

"Think you broke 'em, Harriekins!" Fred said, signaling the approach of the Twins.

"Never seen someone eat more than Ronnie, mate!" George said, walking side-by-side with his brother.

"And definitely not so cleanly!"

"Too right- That boy could learn a thing or two from ya."

The group collectively glanced over at Ron, sitting next to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, hands smeared with grease, flecks of food scattered across his cheeks and uniform. Everyone shuddered in unison.

"Er, I was just really hungry? I had a growth spurt over the summer, so I'm hungry nearly all the time now. You shoulda seen me when I was at Mungo's."

"Harry!" Hermione cried, broken out of her trance, "What were you doing at St. Mungo's!? What happened to you!?"

"And why are you so… _Tall?_" Ginny asked, much more quietly. Even sitting, his head rose a good few inches above Hermione's. The redheaded girl had to actually tilt her head up to look him in the face.

"Oh, right. So I was in Diagon Alley, doing my school shopping, and I came across this glasses shop. I stopped in to buy a new pair, since I didn't really like my old ones, and they rope me into getting an opto-medic to check me out. He says my current prescription is a horrid match, and is actually making my vision _worse,_ then he asks me where I got them from. I tell him, then he's taking me to St. Mungo's, and they're doing tests, and then they keep me in there for a _whole_ month while they fix things up. Apparently, this is the height I was supposed to be this entire time, but I had a lot of bone damage that didn't let me grow properly. It's fine now, though."

Hermione, being the quickest of the lot, was the first to start asking questions. "Well, where _did_ you get your old glasses?"

"My aunt picked 'em up in a Salvation Army box."

Hermione gasped, but the Weasley's seemed a bit confused.

"What's that mean?" Ginny asked, not having heard of the Salvation Army.

"The Salvation Army is a Muggle charity organization, which collects donations from people to give to those who need things, such as clothes. What his aunt did was horrible because there was absolutely no way it would have been his prescription. The thing about prescriptions is that they're custom-made, since everyone's eyes are different and therefore need different amounts of help to see properly, meaning hardly anyone has the same prescription."

"Still not seeing the point here, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "It's like… Slapping a bandaid on a hole in someone's stomach! It'll hardly do anything at all, and if left like that, things will definitely get worse. Harry, how bad did they say it was?"

Harry scratched at his cheek. "Well, the opto-medic said I would've gone blind in a few years if they hadn't caught it. Before twenty, he said."

_That_ got a reaction from the redheads.

"That would've been a right bummer, mate."

"Imagine having to tap around with a cane all the time. Would've been bloody annoying."

"Well, at least you've got a good excuse if ya accidentally grope a bird."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't even know if it was a _pretty_ bird. What if it was a bloke?"

The Twins shuddered, and Hermione yelled at them indignantly.

"That still doesn't explain how you wound up in St. Mungo's, though," Ginny pointed out, turning all attention back to Harry.

"Right. I told him Aunt Petunia only picked those old glasses up because she didn't like me. They definitely had the money for a proper pair."

Hermione nodded. "That would explain it. He probably thought that you'd been abused; if they were willing to do something like that, what else would they do? Sounds like he was right, too, if your Muggle family caused all that bone damage. Oh, Harry, what did those people _do_ to you?"

"A bit of this, bit of that. Nothing I really feel like talking about. Anyways, we should probably go. I think classes are gonna start soon."

Startled by the abrupt topic change, but respecting his wishes, the Gryffindors all went their ways, only Hermione sticking with the boy, since they had the same class at the moment. She was staring at him, concern written all over her face, and Harry couldn't stop himself from poking her in the forehead, which he could now easily reach.

"What's got your knickers in a knot?" Harry asked, enjoying how her face crinkled at his crude terminology.

"Harry! Don't say such things! And I'm just worried about you… What if those people try to hurt you in the future?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I told the Headmaster about it, and he's letting me stay at Hogwarts for the summers now. Without classes, I can get so much duelling practice in."

"You get to do magic over the summer? That's not fair!" Hermione exclaimed, crossing her arms moodily.

"Aw, is someone jealous?" Harry asked, leaning away when Hermione took a swing at him.

"Prat!" she cried, resuming her sulking. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing the girl against his side.

"I'm just playing, 'Mione," he said, twirling a strand of her curly hair around his fingers. Not like it'd get any more messy, honestly. Hermione grumbled a bit, but leaned into him anyways.

* * *

"Welcome back, class. I hope you've done your homework, because I'll be collecting it now. Hold them up!" It was six inches on the abilities, habitats, and weaknesses of Red Caps, little dwarf-like creatures that liked to beat the hell out of anything that moved. However, Lupin was already showing himself to be different from his predecessors, and the other Professors as well. Whereas they asked for a minimum, Lupin asked for a _maximum_ length of six inches. It forced the students to focus only on the most important parts, something which thoroughly threw Hermione out of sorts. Harry, however, could appreciate the decreased workload.

With a flick of his wand, the papers being waved in the air were snatched by an invisible hand, flying towards the Defense Professor and touching down in a neat pile on his palm. He shuffled through it for a few moments, occasionally glancing at particular students.

"Ah, a bit long there, Ms. Granger. Remember; practicality is _key_. The less you have to sort through, the more likely you'll be able to perform in high-stress situations. Speaking of which, you did very well in that aspect, Mr. Potter. Would've been less than an inch, if not for the spacing. Now, today, we'll be doing something a bit more practical. As you all know, I will be focusing on Dark Creatures this year. So, I've brought in one to show you! Gather around my desk, and I'll go retrieve it."

The students wandered down at their own paces, chattering excitedly. Malfoy was bragging about how he'd take care of whatever it was with his _advanced skills_\- honestly, the kid was almost as arrogant as Lockhart. For once in a long time, Harry found himself agreeing with Ron Weasley, who shouted for the blond ponce to shut up. Daphne Greengrass sidled up to him, bringing a brunette with her.

"Hello, Harry." He nodded at her, then returned to fiddling with the rings on his fingers. He hadn't had much time to get used to them- the month in St. Mungo's didn't count, because he wasn't in his right mind during that mess.

"This is Tracey Davis. She's also a Slytherin." Harry nodded at the brown-haired girl, who waved cheerfully. They stood in silence for a moment, before Daphne elbowed him in the side.

"Aren't you going to introduce Granger?"

Harry stared at her for a moment. "Why? She can introduce herself, right Herm-?" He looked to the girl, who was glaring fiercely at him, hair a bit frizzier than normal. He blinked, then turned back to the two Slytherins. "Right then, this is Hermione Granger. She's a Gryffindor, and probably gonna be top of the class for the Third Years."

This time, it was Hermione's turn to elbow him, digging into his ribs a bit. "Harry!" she cried, seemingly scandalized. Now Harry was rubbing his side, staring in shock at the girl, who crossed her arms and turned away from him. He glanced towards Daphne and Tracey for help, but they were too busy giggling. So, he sighed, and went back to his rings.

_Should I move the one on my right middle finger to my left thumb, just to have them all on one hand?_

The return of Professor Lupin broke him from his musings. The man walked in with a floating wardrobe trailing behind him, covered in mirrors and shaking like it was in an earthquake. Hermione, surprised by its rattling, took a step back, along with many other students. Lupin set the wardrobe down, and turned to his class.

"Alright, this is it. Would anyone care to take a guess as to what I've got in there?"

"That's a boggart!" Dean Thomas shouted, hand shooting into the air a moment after he'd started speaking.

"Yes, very good, Mr. Thomas! I suppose the choice of container might've given it away?"

Dean nodded. "I read in the textbook that boggarts like dark places."

"Well, though you were correct, it would not do to make assumptions based on such simple facts in the future. I could have had any number of creatures in this wardrobe, whether they liked the dark or not. For example, what if I were to open a door, and a vampire walked out? I've heard _they_ are quite fond of the dark as well."

Dean nodded, seemingly chastised. Lupin smiled. "Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart _looks _like? It's important you are able to tell the difference between two creatures, else you might end up trying to set fire to a salamander, and the only thing you'll succeed in doing is feeding it."

Hermione's hand shot up into the air. "Nobody knows exactly what a boggart looks like, Professor. They are shape-shifters, that take on the form of a person's greatest fear."

Lupin nodded. "Yes, that is what makes them incredibly terrifying. Well done, Ms. Granger." Hermione smiled at the praise. "If you were to ever run across a boggart without being prepared, you could very well end up paralyzed by terror, which the boggart will feed off of. If your greatest fear happens to be… Say, a dragon, the boggart will be able to use those massive teeth to take a bite out of you. That is why, in this class, we will be learning how to combat boggarts. Does anyone know the Boggart-Banishing Spell?"

Surprisingly, Neville Longbottom raised his hand timidly. Alongside Hermione, of course.

"Mr. Longbottom?" The bushy-haired girl seemed put-out that she wasn't called upon.

"R-riddikulus!"

"Yes, indeed! Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Longbottom, because you will be the first person to demonstrate how to successfully use that spell! Come forward- don't be shy."

Neville paled, walking forward on shaky legs. Hermione suddenly seemed very grateful that the Professor hadn't called upon her.

"Do you have any idea as to what may come out of that wardrobe, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville thought it over for a moment, before nodding. "It- it will probably be Professor Snape, sir."

Lupin smiled, but it was small. His eyes showed an indecipherable emotion; almost like a mix of pity and regret. He muttered something to himself, but it was lost in the laughter of the students.

"What is something that you find immensely amusing, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville looked confused, so Lupin elaborated. "Knowing the spell is all well and good, but the thing that truly weakens a boggart is _laughter_. The purpose of the Boggart-Banishing Spell is to transform your greatest fear into something absolutely hilarious, so much so that you will forget all about your terror. Now, what would make you laugh the most?"

"My… My Gran's clothes. She's got this eagle hat, and…"

"Ah ah, no need to explain, Mr. Longbottom. If _you _see it, _we_ will see it. I'm going to open this wardrobe, and when Professor Snape comes out, I want you to picture him wearing your Gran's clothes, and cast the spell. Ready?"

Neville looked like he'd rather turn on his heel and run out the classroom, but he nodded anyways. It seemed like his Gryffindor bravery had come in late, but better that than never. Lupin walked off to the side, and pointed his wand at the wardrobe. The door knob turned, unlocking it, and the rattling stopped. Slowly, the door creaked open, pushed open by a pale hand, which was then followed by billowing black robes, greasy hair, and a pointy nose.

Professor Snape stalked across the floor like he did in Potions class, clothes flaring gracefully in non-existent wind, the same way they did when he was coming over to Vanish Neville's potion. Neville squeaked, but raised his wand in a shaking hand.

"R… _Riddikulus_!" Neville shouted, jabbing the stick at Snape. The man stumbled back as if struck, and his robes shifted from pitch black to a hideous green. A gaudy red handbag appeared on his arm, what looked like a stuffed cat around his neck like a scarf, and, as Neville had said, an eagle hat on his head.

The class burst out into laughter, Professor Lupin the loudest of all. "Well done, Mr. Longbottom, well done!" he cheered, clapping. "Now, off to the back with you! The rest of you, form up in a line!"

Ron was first. His boggart turned into a massive spider, and even Harry, at the back of the line, shivered. Evidently, it was worse for Ron, who was closer, the main focus of the faux-arachnid, and actually had a crippling fear of spiders. The boy shrieked and ran. The spider lunged, but glowing ropes sprouted from Lupin's wand; an Incarcerous spell. They wrapped around the spider's legs, bringing it to the floor hard, where it began clicking its pincers together furiously, still eyeing Ron. The redhead stood at the back of the classroom, at the top of the stairs, pressing his back to the wall. He looked about a minute away from passing out in fear.

Lupin cleared his throat. "Right. Well, we'll speak of this after class, Mr. Weasley. For now, Ms. Patil, you're up."

Things continued on in that trend, students facing their fears with laughter. Nothing crazy or unusual; snakes, other spiders, puddles of blood which had the kid green with nausea, an incredibly vicious dog, and in Draco's case, a man sneering down at him. Judging by the platinum blond hair, pulled into a long braid, this was the father that was always hearing of things from his son. However, he seemed quite angry, or disappointed, in his son, and the Malfoy Heir looked close to tears as he cast the spell.

Tracey's fear was horses, apparently. Granted, it had ridiculously sharp teeth, but still. Daphne's was a piece of paper, the words _Marriage Contract_ written across the top in big, bold, flowing letters. Hermione's was, predictably, Professor McGonagall giving her a paper with a red T covering the majority of it. She looked appalled as she cast the spell, turning to join the crowd of students with an irritable look on her face.

Harry was the last in line, more to spite Crabbe and Goyle, who tried to wrestle him from the spot, than fear of facing his fears. A silent Full Body-Bind- cast by the barest of flicks from a wand already in his hand- and a sharp glare sent them on their way. Lupin looked hesitant to call on him, emotions battling across his face for a moment, before he sighed in resignation, and beckoned the boy forward.

* * *

The room was silent, all eyes on Harry. Even those who had previously been locked in conversation with friends- or goons, if they were Draco- went quiet. All eyes were on Harry, wondering what exactly the Boy-Who-Lived was scared of. After all, he had supposedly destroyed Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries; what _could_ he be scared of? Or, they were looking for blackmail material- also in the case of Draco.

For a long while, Professor McGonagall with cat ears and a fuzzy tail stared at him. Then, she became a swirling maelstrom of colors and shapes, switching forms at incomprehensible speeds. Finally, it settled on the floating, robed form of a decaying creature, bony fingers outstretched to reach Harry. He tilted his head, confused, and the beast lowered its hands. Then, it switched again, into something much stranger.

Muttering erupted from the crowd of students when the boggart became Harry Potter. However, it was not a duplicate of the actual person. Instead, it was smaller, scrawny, wearing massive wire-frame glasses. This was Harry Potter from First Year, and nobody knew what to make of it.

Boggart-Harry brushed a finger over his lightning-bolt scar, pushed his massive glasses up his nose, and began walking forward slowly. Once it got close to Harry, it beckoned for him to lean down, cupping its hands over its mouth. Obviously, it wanted to tell him a secret of some sort.

Bemused, Harry glanced over at Professor Lupin, who simply shrugged. The man had no clue what to do in a situation such as this. Boggarts normally did not show this much intelligence. So, Harry decided to humor the boggart, and lowered his ear.

Evidently, the Third Year did not like what he was hearing. Lupin was alarmed to see the thunderous scowl suddenly appear on his face. The rest of the class, who could only see the back of his head, were surprised when Harry's left fist, covered in his glinting Heir Rings, swung up to slam into the underside of the boggart's jaw. It bit its tongue, black blood spewing out of its mouth, some it flying onto Harry's face, but the creature just smiled an inky smile.

"What's the matter, _freak?_ Can't handle the _truth!?"_ Despite having spat its tongue out onto the floor- a black, squirming mass- it was talking just fine.

Any other words or taunts it would have thrown were cut off by the same left hand attempting to cave in its face, snapping the wire-framed glasses. Harry's right finally came up, smashing a heavy cross across the boggart's face, twisting its head to the side and causing it to fall on its back. Harry had dropped his wand to the floor in favor of a more physical approach.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Lupin cried, rushing forward to stop his student. However, Harry was no longer listening. He leapt on the boggart, pinning its arms to the ground with his knees, and began raining blows on a younger version of his own face. The first two were accompanied by the crackling of glass, until the spectacles were sent flying. The succeeding cracks were those of bone, both in the boggart's face and in Harry's hands.

Lupin reached the angry boy, and reached out to grab his shoulders. Harry's head snapped up, and he _roared_. A pulse of uncontrolled magic slammed into the man, sending him flying. The wave spread out across the classroom, snatching up papers, shifting desks, and pushing students back a few steps. Hermione, who had been running forward to try and help her friend, was knocked onto her rear.

"Don't think this changes anything, _boy!_" the boggart shouted between blows, somehow still able to formulate words while missing the majority of its teeth, lips swollen to balloons, and jaw shattered like its spectacles. "You're still _weak_! You can't even kill an eleven-year-old!"

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

The blows stopped for a moment, and Harry clamped his hands onto the sides of the boggart's head. With another feral growl, crimson-tinged flames burst from his hands, wrapping around the boggart's face. It began laughing maniacally, like it had just been told the funniest joke in the world. The inferno grew stronger with Harry's rage, each stoking the other in a perpetuating cycle, until the boy was surrounded by it. The flames leapt into the air, coalescing into a blood-red skull which stared menacingly at the crowd of students with empty eye sockets, jaw silently clacking together in a lipless cackle. They watched on in terror, so frightened that the entirety of their bodies were stiff. Luckily, this prevented their bladders from emptying themselves in their pants. Unfortunately, it caused more than one heart to skip a beat.

So focused were they on the fiery apparition of death, that they did not notice the flame tornado appear in the room, which dispersed to reveal Headmaster Dumbledore. The old man gasped at the sight, but his eyes hardened. He raised his wand, and from it burst forth a flood of water, which doused the fire. The flames fought back, boiling away much of the water upon contact, but Dumbledore pushed harder, and eventually, the blaze was snuffed out, revealing an unconscious, half-drowned Harry Potter laying next to a large black spot on the ground.

"Professor Lupin, please escort the students to the Great Hall for the remainder of the period. I will take care of Mr. Potter."

Lupin looked like he wanted to argue, but did as he was told, and herded the students out. Hermione tried to break away and run towards Harry, but an idle flick of Dumbledore's wand placed a magical shield in front of the girl, which she bumped into. Frustrated, Hermione slammed her fists against it, distorting the silver light, before Professor Lupin caught up and dragged her away. Within a minute, Dumbledore was left in an empty classroom.

The old man sighed, finally releasing the Shield Charm, and cautiously walked over to the unconscious boy. Just to be safe, he hit Harry with multiple Stunners, as well as a Full Body Bind-Curse, along with several other jinxes that would make movement difficult should he wake up. Dumbledore floated the boy up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a small gesture to Fawkes, the two were wrapped up in the warm, gentle embrace of orange phoenix fire, and moved instantaneously to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

When Harry woke up a few hours later, he was absolutely exhausted. He groaned, rolling over to try and get some more sleep, when a voice interrupted him.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry reluctantly lifted his head, cracking open his bleary eyes to get an eyeful of white. Blinking and rubbing the crust out from between his eyelids, Harry took a better look, and realized he was looking at white hair. A _lot_ of it.

"Headmaster?" Harry asked groggily, forcing himself into a sitting position.

"How do you feel, Mr. Potter? You've been asleep for quite a bit of time."

"Really? Feels like I hardly slept at all… I'm so _tired_."

Normally, the Headmaster would have chuckled at the admission. The fact that he didn't set Harry on edge, though he didn't quite know why. He unconsciously sat up a bit straighter when Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh.

"Headmaster?" Harry asked once more, feeling the trepidation in the air, like the old man was treading on glass with bare feet.

"I'm not quite sure how to say this, Mr. Potter… Do you remember what happened? It would save me a great deal of trouble."

Harry tilted his head, digging through his mind a bit. "Um, we were in Defence class, and Professor Lupin was showing us a boggart. It was my turn, and it transformed into… Me. A younger me, but still me, and it said…"

Dumbledore subtly slipped his wand out of its holster when Harry began to glare aimlessly, the air around him heating up. Steam curled off his skin, and his emerald-green pupils raged in his eyes like hellfire.

"Mr. Potter, please calm down."

Harry didn't do anything of the sort. Instead, he simply turned his scowl on the old man, who sighed, and snapped his wand up. Before the boy could even react, he had been hit with a half dozen Calming Charms, which caused the room to cool down a bit. When Harry realized what had just happened- that Dumbledore had pointed his wand at him- his anger boiled over once more. This time, crimson fire sprouted into existence, dancing in the air.

Dumbledore shot up, the force of his sudden movement tossing his chair back, where it slammed into a wall.

"Mr. Potter, I will not say it again! _Be calm!"_

Dumbledore Conjured a stream of water, and made it circle the boy in a ring, quenching the flames as they appeared. Harry swallowed with great difficulty, and dropped his head, breaking his tense stare-down with the Headmaster. Slowly, the room once more cooled down. This time, however, it stayed that way. For a few moments, the only sound in the Infirmary was Harry's deep, measured breaths. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles popped, but they eventually relaxed as well. With one final, heavy exhale, Harry leaned back against his pillow, resting his head on the wall. He did not look at Dumbledore, though.

The old man, seemingly satisfied, Summoned his chair with a wave of his hand, and sat back down.

"That's… That's all I remember. How did I end up in here, sir?" Harry asked, fiddling with his Heir Rings. On a whim, he plucked the lone band off his right hand, sliding it onto his left thumb, and clenching his fist once more. The once-cool metal was now blazing hot, though it didn't feel much different to his feverish skin.

"Well, as you may have noticed, Mr. Potter, your anger seems to have become incredibly potent. I have a theory for why, though that will come later. According to Professor Lupin, whatever the boggart said to you enraged you, and you began to attack it. After striking it a few times, you managed to Conjure enough fire to burn it to ashes. However, the fire that you created is… _Problematic_, to say the least."

Harry stared at the old man. As Dumbledore spoke, he was beginning to recall more and more of the events which lead up to him being in the Hospital Wing. Now, the last thing he could remember was being surrounded by a red blaze, then feeling like he was drowning, and finally passing out.

"What of it, Headmaster?" Harry asked, anxiety showing in his trembling voice.

"Have you ever heard of… _Fiendfyre?_"

* * *

Apparently, there was more to Occlumency than Harry had thought. The book he'd gotten had only mentioned its application in organizing the mind, which he discovered gave him what equated to photographic memory, as well as speeding up his mental processing capabilities, which led to faster reading and enhanced reflexes. It was dead useful for dueling, since he hardly had to think about what spell to use and when, and he had an easier time seeing where to move to dodge certain things. It also helped with his classes, because he could just read the text, and then spit the answers back out when required.

However, he'd simply assumed that was the extent of Occlumency. He'd never known that it could also be used to suppress and lock away emotions. He vaguely remembered the Headmaster's comments about using it to defend his mind against intruders, but he'd never actually thought about it. That was what Dumbledore wanted him to do now; learn to suppress his suddenly-fierce rage.

It seemed the boggart incident had been the metaphysical equivalent to lighting a match in a room full of flammable gas; big boom. _Really_ big boom. It had shattered his mental fortitude, and the effects showed. These days, the slightest things pissed Harry off, whether it be someone bumping into him, accidentally dropping something, someone talking too loud- hell, he even _woke up_ angry. His body temperature was always running high, only a few seconds away from exuding a cloud of steam, then erupting into an all-consuming inferno.

He wasn't immune to the heat, either. He was constantly Conjuring water to drink, only to do so again within the next ten minutes when it all inevitably turned into sweat, which evaporated instantly. For some odd reason, his skin became prickly whenever his temperature spiked, and he was stuck futilely scraping at his arms in an attempt to make it stop, much to the concern of Hermione and Daphne. Tracey at least had the sense to not say anything.

They'd stopped commenting, however, when Harry nearly roasted them alive with a fiery exhale. They made sure to stay a fair bit away from him after that, communicating with him only through notes, and his temperature permanently rose another few degrees. He was a walking fog machine now, much to the disturbance of nearly everyone in the castle.

At the very least, he hadn't blown up in a hellish blaze since the boggart incident, so that was something. It was exhausting, however, to constantly be trying to keep himself calm, only for his mental shields to continuously melt in the face of his rage. By the end of the final class of the day, he was expelling so much heat that people could not come near him without starting to sweat as if they'd ran a Muggle marathon, and his headache was nearly blinding due to the backlash of having his mind's defenses broken consecutively.

* * *

Things boiled over- in both the emotional _and_ physical sense- during Care of Magical Creatures one day. Today, Hagrid had decided to go a step up from salamanders, and introduced the students to hippogriffs. Harry quite liked how the creatures looked. They were exotic in a fascinating way, unlike flobberworms, which were just plain nasty. He especially appreciated the white one, whose plumage reminded him of his own vain snowy avian.

Hagrid led that same one away from the flock with an entire fish, and when it got closer to the class, tossed it the snack. The hippogriff snatched the fish out of the air, swallowing it in an instant, then turned its attention to the class.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid asked. Behind him, the creature puffed out its chest. "Class, say hello to Buckbeak. He's a hippogriff; half eagle, half horse, and seven kinds of fierce. They're proud creatures, hippogriffs. _Very_ easily offended- you do _not_ want to insult one of them. See those claws? It may just use 'em on ya! Now, who'd like to come and say hello?"

The entirety of the class backed up, which Harry heard more than saw. He was far more focused on the intelligent glint in the creature's eyes, which stared right back at him.

"Alright then, Harry, come on up, lad!" Harry stepped forward. "Remember, you'll have to let _him_ make the first move- it's only polite. Also, bow, and then maintain constant eye contact. If Buckbeak bows back, then he'll come a bit closer. If he doesn't, _run_. Ready?"

Harry nodded excitedly, and walked forward about ten paces before halting in his tracks. He simply stared at the hippogriff, whose attention was now more focused on him than the whole crowd of students. Harry bent ninety degrees at the waist, held it for a good five seconds, then straightened up, locking eyes with the creature once more. For a long while, they simply stared at each other, before slowly- but not reluctantly- Buckbeak's head lowered. His head straightened, and he cantered on over to Harry, who was smiling widely now.

Harry rose a hand into the hair, holding it out in front of him, and Buckbeak continued his approach. When he was close enough, the hippogriff extended his neck a bit, sniffing cautiously for a moment, then bumping his beak against the palm.

Carefully, Harry rubbed the hard beak, and scratched at the feathered skin. Buckbeak squawked quietly, seemingly content with the ministrations, and trotted forward a bit to nibble at his hair. Harry switched focus to the beast's neck, stroking the soft plumage with long, steady motions.

Idly, he heard the class clapping, before something Hagrid said caught his attention.

"Would ya like to ride him?"

Harry nodded vigorously, hardly comprehending any words after that. Instead, he turned all his attention to Buckbeak.

"So, what do ya say we go for a quick fly-around?" Harry asked, grinning wider when the hippogriff threw its head back with a screech of challenge. It lowered its neck a bit, bending a foreleg so Harry could haul himself up on to the winged back, which he did with haste. Hooking his legs in front of the joints connecting the wings to his back, Harry clapped Buckbeak on the side.

Buckbeak took off, quickly accelerating into a full gallop, before tossing himself off a cliff, wings flaring majestically. In just a few powerful flaps, the two were well over Hogwarts, about equal with the tops of the towering spires. Then with a few more, they were in the clouds, and Harry could not contain his shouts of joy, which were accompanied by a few gouts of fire that ripped from his throat. Buckbeak joined him in his cheers, screeching loudly enough that the noise echoed off the stone walls of Hogwarts. Suddenly, Buckbeak fell into a sharp dive, and Harry had to wrap his arms around the hippogriffs' neck to avoid being forcefully separated by the gales. His screams became mixed with terror, but they were still quite exuberant.

They dove for well over two hundred feet, before Buckbeak's wings snapped out, and they were suddenly horizontal, the creature's talons skimming the surface of the water. Buckbeak slowed down here, simply gliding above the Black Lake. Harry was breathing deeply, coming down from the adrenaline high, which he hadn't felt since the last time he'd played Quidditch, or even ridden a broom- it had been a long time. About a year, now. He'd forgotten how much he loved flying, and was grateful to Buckbeak for reminding him.

They drifted for a little bit, Buckbeak doing a few loops and twists, flying upside down at one point, before they eventually circled back around, landing near where the rest of the class was. Most of them were applauding, cheering his bravery, but Harry was paying attention to none of it. He swung himself down to the ground, and threw his arms around the hippogriff's thick neck, earning a few gentle pecks on the shoulder in return. When Harry let go, he was smiling the widest he had in awhile.

Then, Draco Malfoy had to ruin it. The ponce- unable to stand being _shown up_, as he probably thought of it, by the Boy-Who-Lived- shoved his way to the front of the class, swaggering over to Buckbeak.

"You're not so _dangerous_," Draco sneered, "You big, ugly thing. Glorified chicken, that's all _you_ are."

Buckbeak did not like that. Hagrid tried to warn the blond, but the half-giant was simply ignored, and Draco came closer. Buckbeak reared up on his hind horse legs, screeching angrily. On the way down, the hippogriff lashed out with a talon, slicing a gash down the arm Draco had raised in the panic, tearing through cloth and flesh. Buckbeak shrieked once more, while Draco was whining on the floor.

"Oh, it's killed me, it's killed me!" he sobbed, cradling his arm.

While the class yelled and pissed themselves, Harry was a bit more involved with trying to not start a forest fire. His body temperature skyrocketed, breaking well past the point where he was steaming. Fireballs appeared in the air, orbiting Harry, who was scowling thunderously, emerald eyes glaring at the idiot that insulted his new friend.

"You'll pay for this, you filthy half-breed!" Draco yelled at Hagrid, who had the boy in his arms to carry to the Hospital Wing. Harry growled, a blood-curdling noise which cut through the commotion. The fire turned from a comparatively gentle orange to a crimson red, taking on the form of hundreds of floating skulls.

Hagrid turned, fearing that some horrible creature had appeared from the Forbidden Forest. When he saw Harry wreathed in Fiendfyre, he dropped Draco and took a big step back. A second later, the half-giant realized what he'd done, and snatched up the screaming whelp. When Hagrid looked up, Harry was gone.

The only thing that remained was a patch of charred earth, burnt foliage, and dying orange embers.

* * *

Harry came back to his senses an indeterminate amount of time later. His skin felt feverish, and the whole of his body ached. Groaning, Harry rose to his feet, attempting to dust off his robes. His hand came in contact with the bare skin of his chest, and he looked down, only to get an eyeful of his nude body.

Harry blinked, confused, and glanced around. It looked like he was in the Room of Requirement- he'd recognize the cobblestone pattern of these walls anywhere. The floor was covered with shattered stone, splintered wood, and piles of ash.

With a thought, Harry summoned his trunk, and pulled a new set of clothes out of it. He cast the Water-Making Spell on himself as an impromptu shower, along with a few _Scourgifies_ and Drying Charms, then donned his new clothes. He'd have to replace those at some point.

Remembering that he had been in class before blacking out and somehow ending up here, Harry exited the Room, and came face-to-face with Dumbledore.

"Headmaster?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore greeted him, tucking away the book he'd been reading, and Vanishing the leather armchair he'd been sitting in. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm exhausted… How did I end up here, Headmaster?"

"That would be my fault, once more. I've had Fawkes monitoring you ever since your first blow-up last week, just in case it happened again, and I'm glad I did. Today was much worse than last time- you raged for near-to an hour. Luckily, the Room of Requirement provided plenty of outlets for you to vent. Would you care to explain what angered you so?"

Harry nodded slowly, taking in the information.

"...I was in Care of Magical Creatures, and I'd just finished taking a ride on Buckbeak, one of the hippogriffs, when Draco walked up and started insulting him. Buckbeak scratched Draco, and he started screaming at Hagrid, too."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, insulting a hippogriff tends to evoke such responses. I fear I will have some trouble in the future from Lucius Malfoy- he will not sit still while his son has been attacked, regardless of the fact that Mr. Malfoy was the one that caused it. I must warn Hagrid to tread carefully…"

"I… I didn't mean to get so angry, Headmaster. I really thought I was in control, but… I suppose I don't like it when people insult my friends."

Dumbledore chuckled, clapping a hand on the downtrodden boy's shoulder. "An admirable trait, dear boy, but your execution of your defense leaves much to be desired."

Harry nodded. "I'm trying my best, it's just that my mental shields keep… _Melting!_ I don't know how else to explain it."

Dumbledore frowned, stroking his beard in deep thought. "No, it's quite alright. It does, in a roundabout way, make sense. If your anger can physically manifest itself as Fiendfyre, then surely it would do the same within your mind? Perhaps the issue is in the method you've chosen to suppress your anger; Fiendfyre is incredibly hot, and can liquify stone, given enough time. So, in order to prevent that…?" Dumbledore trailed off, gesturing for Harry to finish the thought.

"I have to find something that doesn't melt?"

"Not quite, Mr. Potter. I was thinking more along the lines of, if there is no fire, then nothing will burn. What say you?"

Harry blinked. "You mean I need to somehow extinguish the fire completely rather than just hold it back?"

"_Exactly_, my boy! How you choose to do so is up to you, though I'd recommend against simply using water. It may be able to quench the flames, but liquids do not form very effective barriers against external attacks. I'll excuse you from classes for the rest of the week while you think this over, since it would be rather dangerous for you to go out while in this state. Come find me when you think you've come across an answer, and we shall speak more."

* * *

He was so _cold_. His movements were stiff and slow, his blood freezing in his veins, hardly flowing. He could barely even think anymore. He needed _heat_.

A weight was covering him. Soft, plush… _A blanket,_ his sluggish mind supplied. It made things worse, however- how can a blanket insulate heat when there is no heat to insulate? And then, Harry began to feel it.

His heartbeat was ever-so-slightly slowing, weakening. His chest was rising less consistently, his lungs taking in less air with every passing second. He was dying. The cold was killing him.

Then, unbridled fury filled him. He'd trained for so long, studied so much, had so many things left unfinished. He couldn't just die of _hypothermia_, of all things! With that rage came a blaze, and with that inferno came heat.

For just a moment, the frozen world burned, a song of ice and fire heralding the start of a new battle between old foes.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Potter. Thank you for coming so quickly on such short notice. This here is Ragnok, the goblin from Gringotts who will oversee the rending of the basilisk. Ragnok, this is Harry Potter, the slayer of said basilisk."

Harry and Ragnok nodded at each other curtly, the goblin obviously sizing him up. Dumbledore noticed, and put a stop to it quickly.

Well then, gentlemen, shall we go? Mr. Potter, as the only Parselmouth present, you will need to be present to allow access to the Chamber. Have you anything important to attend to within the next few hours?"

Harry shook his head, and they walked out of the office. The trio met up with a group of humans and goblins in the Entrance Hall. Names were exchanged, but from what Harry heard, Ragnok was the only person- goblin- of importance, so he ignored the rest. Once in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Harry hissed at the sink, and walked down the stairs while the others were staring in amazement at the opening mechanism. Dumbledore stayed back to watch them, amused. They caught up when he was halfway down, and paused again they came across the first basilisk skin.

"Bloody _fuck_…" one of them whispered. In the quiet, stone hallway, it echoed. The group stopped in their collective tracks to poke and prod, running hands and gnarled claws over the scales. They had not decayed in the slightest, and were nearly as hard as the one currently attached to the corpse- being shed had done nothing to diminish its potential.

"That's only a bunch of scales. Leave someone to take care of it, and let's go," Harry commanded, startling the harvesters. They saw the sense of his suggestion, and one game of rock-paper-scissors later, they were back on the move. The man left behind was cursing, and wrangled a promise from one of his colleagues to be shown the memory later. WIth every skin they came across, the process was repeated, until only a dozen of the twenty harvesters arrived in the Chamber of Secrets.

"That's the corpse," Harry said, pointing at the massive, dead snake. "There aren't any more skins laying around, so don't bother searching. I don't know where they are- maybe she ate them, maybe they're just hidden, but that doesn't matter right now."

WIth that, Harry continued to the statue of Salazar Slytherin. WIth a loud hiss that startled the harvesters, the mouth opened, and Harry Levitated himself up on a Conjured stone platform.

Over the course of the day, Harry occupied himself with Naga, idly listening to the shouts of awe and irritation from the Gringotts workers that floated up to his level. After a while, Harry dropped into an intense workout, pushing his body to the limits. Because of his constant exhaustion from holding back his rage, he'd neglected his training for the better part of September. It was time to fix that, starting with whipping himself back into shape.

* * *

"I don't care what you do with the bones, meat, or venom. I just want the scales that were on the corpse- _not_ one of the shed skins. The ones on the corpse are the freshest, and therefore the most durable. I want them to make a wand holster, and later, armor."

Ragnok raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Potter, that basilisk was long enough that you could make a new set of armor and a wand holster every year for the next century, and still have more than half of it left. Of course, that will be completely unnecessary, since one set can last you through a decade of constant battle, considering its hardness. Surely you do not need _all_ of that?"

"Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. Besides, it's my kill; I'm the one that decides what happens with it. I _could_ just pay you in galleons and keep all the parts, if you want?"

The goblin raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, now, no need to be hasty, Mr. Potter. It was merely a question- with all the shedded skins, we have more than enough basilisk scales for whatever we may want. It is a shame that there is such a limited source of venom, however."

Harry nodded. "Contact me in a few months, and I'll see what I can do."

Ragnok looked confused. "What do you mean, Mr. Potter?" The boy remained silent, and they stared at each other for a long while. Eventually, Ragnok just sighed, and motioned for his entourage to go.

"I'll owl Gringotts to tell them to transfer the proper amount of galleons to you."

"Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter."

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Potter! Nice of you to return! I trust you have the basilisk scales?"

Harry wordlessly handed over a small pouch, enchanted with spatial and weight-reducing charms. Ollivander opened it and pulled out a rolled-up sheet of material. He turned it over, examining it carefully, before nodding in satisfaction.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter! It'll take a few hours, because I need to shape it manually- basilisk hide of this quality won't be affected by the normal spells- so I suggest you come back tomorrow. I'll have two holsters done by then."

Harry nodded, and left Ollivander's shop.

* * *

Having something covering the majority of his forearm was a bit disconcerting. It wasn't very heavy, and incredibly comfortable, but it still felt odd. Ollivander had warned him about that, that he'd get over it eventually. So, it was only a matter of time before the holster became another part of his body.

There were two types of holsters; flick, and spring-loaded. The names were fairly self-explanatory. With the flick holster, you had to _flick_ your forearm, the force dislodging the wand, and sending it flying into your hand. The spring-loaded holster had a trigger that was activated by bending your wrist back a certain amount, causing your wand to blast out of the tube it sat in. This type was less popular, because the reflexes required to successfully catch your wand were insane. Even for people who could do it, there was far too much risk involved. In combat, you likely wouldn't even have the time to activate the mechanism, and since you were always on the move, it was near-to impossible to grab your wand, leaving it to go flying across the battlefield. As such, aurors and the like tended to use flick holsters. The spring-loaders were more for people that wanted to show off.

Harry had a flick holster. This was custom made, as all holsters were due to differing arm sizes and wand lengths and whatnot, but Ollivander had added a little extra something. Rather than keeping the wand in a full tube, Ollivander had made it so the storage component was only half of a cylinder. As such, Harry's wand was always in contact with his arm, so he could cast spells without pulling out his wand at all. He'd have to be careful when doing that, however, since it was possible that the spell could clip his hand on the way out, blowing it off or something. Harry didn't want to risk that, so he compromised. He quickly figured out how to cast spells _while_ flicking his wand out. The magic was channeled when the wand was fully sheathed, and when it shot out of the holster, the speed with which it moved launched the spell. After that, he could cast spells as he normally did.

Along with his normal training regiment of duelling and physical conditioning, Harry spent a few minutes each day practicing with the holster, to reduce the chances of him messing up in a high-pressure situation.

He'd also added in something popular among Muggles; acrobatics. Flips, handstands, beam-walking, it all did wonders for his balance. Using the equipment produced by the room, he was able to build up muscles in different places from his typical workouts, which made it incredibly easy to toss himself around, increasing his general movement speed. The improved flexibility was also quite nice. It lent itself well to his new application of the Sticking Charm, which he'd accidentally discovered during his traumatic experience with the Knight Bus; wall-crawling.

By channeling Sticking Charms to his feet- wandlessly, of course- he could add another dimension to his movement capabilities. Though wizards had the ability to change their altitude at will, it tended to be rather clumsy, and required a fair amount of concentration; something that can't be spared in a fight for one's life. With the Sticking Charms, he could Transfigure columns to climb, allowing him a height advantage. They also doubled as shields against some spells, and could even be used as launching pads. Using a combination of wall-crawling and acrobatics, Harry could bounce around in tight spaces like a rubber ball. In theory. In actuality, most of his attempts ended with him slamming face-first into the stone pillars. It was a good thing his glasses had runes that made them Unbreakable, or he'd have had to replace them at least twenty times by now, and far more in the future.

The difficulty was two-fold, if you thought about it in simplistic terms. First, there was the application of the Sticking Charm. You had to time it _just_ right so that you stuck to the surface long enough to boost off of it, but not too long that when you did jump, you ended up dangling by your ankle. That seemed like a good way to dislocate something. Then, there was the issue of orientation. If Harry was going to jump from a wall to the ceiling, he'd need to be able to rotate in the air, as well as not get nauseous from the sudden change in perspective. The latter was a bit easier, since he was used to flying upside on his broom, whether it be during a Quidditch game, back when he actually played the sport, or just a leisurely flight. The former is where the acrobatics came in. The ability to flip around at a moment's notice was essential, and something he'd need to practice more at if he didn't want to keep awkwardly slamming into things. Obviously, there were the leg strength requirements, but so long as he kept the target platforms at a relatively close distance, he wouldn't have to worry about that. Transfiguration would help, because it allowed him to bring the landing area closer to him.

This was something he'd have to work at, but if there was one thing he was good at, it was persisting.

* * *

Today's morning run was cancelled before it began, due to a strange event. It began as normal, Harry walking out the main entrance of the castle, dressed in his typical workout gear of a t-shirt, windbreaker, sweatpants, and tennis shoes. He waved at his cloaked, non-human friend, who was approaching him rapidly.

_Why is it moving so fast…?_

The thing was now a stone's toss away, which is when it normally slowed down and drifted over towards him, but for some reason, it kept flying at him like a broomstick. Its arms were outstretched, and not just because that was how the cloaked figure normally held its hands. Rather, it seemed to be actively reaching for him.

And then, Harry felt it. That bone-chilling cold. This chill wasn't caused by his own ice. _Harry's_ ice didn't make his blood freeze in his veins (well, not anymore, at least), didn't make his mind sluggish, his stomach churn, his heart beat erratically. Harry's ice did _not_ make him feel fear.

"_Grab Harry and run!"_

"_James, no!"_

"_Not Harry! Please, have mercy!"_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Warmth blossomed within him. This wasn't the furious heat of his fiery rage. This was more… _Comforting_. Soothing. Gentle. It filled him to the brim with all types of pleasant feelings, and he couldn't quite put a name to any one of them. Instead, they blended together into a potent cocktail of… _Happiness_.

White, glowing mist burst into existence, surrounding Harry. It flowed over and past him, swirling into the shape of a spectral wolf. With a silent howl, the beast pounced, rushing at the black-cloaked ghoul heading straight at him. The demon shrieked when the ghostly figure came close, and was pushed back when they made contact. It turned around, tattered robes flapping, and fled at a greater speed than what it had approached with. The wolf gave chase for a few dozen feet, before turning around and trotting back towards him. He watched the misty form as it came closer, then passed right through him.

With a gasp, Harry whirled around, and saw the phantom being patted on its flanks by a person with a familiar scarred visage, then disappearing in a puff of white mist.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, voice breathy and quiet. The man smiled gently at him.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Beautiful morning, isn't it? Although, I've always been of the opinion that the sunrise is better viewed from a window high up, not outside on the ground."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he simply nodded.

"Now, what were you doing out here?"

"I… I was going for my morning run, like I always do… Professor, what just happened?"

Lupin grimaced. "What you encountered just now, Mr. Potter, was a Dementor. They are demonic creatures, unkillable by any method known to wizards, and they feed on souls. They also have an aura around them, which drains the happiness of any person nearby, bringing forth all their worst memories to make them suffer. They are horrible monsters, Mr. Potter, and you would do well to stay away from them in the future."

Harry nodded silently.

"Come, let's go back inside and get you some chocolate. It lessens the effects of the Dementor's aura, and is tasty to boot!"

The enthusiasm brought a small smile to Harry's face. "By the way, Professor, what was that spell you used?"

* * *

Apparently, the amount of happiness needed to power the Patronus Charm was unprecedented in Harry's life. No matter what memory he called upon to fuel it, nothing worked. Not Quidditch, which had been ruined by Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. Not time spent on his studies, both mandatory and extracurricular. One was plain boring, and the other filled him with pride instead of happiness. _Definitely_ not time with his friends, who were keeping their distance as well this year- then again, considering how temperamental he'd been lately, he couldn't exactly blame them, despite how much it hurt.

Daphne seemed like she was somewhat regretting her choice to abandon Draco's clique, since Harry couldn't exactly protect her if she was avoiding him. Tracey obviously followed Daphne. Luna and Ginny, between being in a younger year, and a different House for the former, hardly saw him in the first place. The Weasley Twins still shot him greetings whenever they saw him, but no longer included him in their pranks, either as a planner or potential target. Hermione looked torn between approaching Harry, and running far away from his fiery rage. It didn't help that he'd nearly burned her to a crisp on two separate occasions, which was likely a large factor in her hesitance. She settled on a happy medium; stay the hell away so she didn't need to run at all. It was pragmatic, but more importantly, it hurt Harry. A lot.

Before Hogwarts, Harry had never had a friend. So, for him to finally make _seven _(eight, if you counted Ron), but then have them all abandon him, sucked major hippogriff nards. His nonhuman friends, Naga, Hedwig, and Buckbeak (who he hadn't gone to visit since his run-in with the Dementor), didn't count. Those memories filled him more with contentment than pure joy. Obviously, his morning runs with his Dementor friend were out for a mix of both reasons. Getting attacked by a soul-sucking demon, whether it was his friend or one of the hundred others roaming the ground, tended to do that.

The less said about life before Hogwarts, the better.

"Professor Lupin, I don't think I can do this. I've gone through as many happy memories as I can recall, but nothing seems to be working." To emphasise his point, Harry held up his wand and concentrated. From the tip emerged a single, nearly transparent wisp of white smoke. It didn't even glow.

Lupin stared at the ground, a forlorn expression playing across his face. Finally, the man sighed. "Harry, I don't think it's as simple as you not being able to do it. I think it's more along the lines of you just not having found the right memory. As of now, you're incapable of mustering up the happiness to perform the Charm, which I must admit to feeling partially responsible for. You are the son of two of my best friends, but I wasn't there for you before now. However, I'm here now, and I'll do my best to help you find that perfect memory, the one that will fill you with enough joy that you'll be able to produce the largest Patronus ever seen!"

The fire in the normally-calm man's eyes made Harry smile. "So basically, I can't do it?"

Lupin sighed once more, but he seemed amused as well. "No, I suppose you can't."

* * *

Christmas hols came and went. No progress was made on the Patronus, and Harry only received two gifts; a few boxes of chocolate from Professor Lupin, and a broomstick. Specifically, a Firebolt. According to the bits of conversation he'd heard recently, it was the newest, fastest, and overall best broom on the market. Many students had stated their overwhelming desire for it, along with envy for the richest families, who would surely get one. Draco had been bragging to just about anyone who would listen that he'd definitely receive one as a Christmas gift. Apparently, so had Harry.

It came with no note, not even a scrap of parchment with initials, so Harry had absolutely no clue who sent this. Harry suspected the Headmaster, since the old man had done the same thing with his Invisibility Cloak- which he didn't use much now that he could perform the Disillusionment Charm with impressive efficiency- but ruled that option out. If Dumbledore were to get him a gift, it would be practical. Perhaps a book with obscure spells, or something along those lines. Not a broom, especially when Harry had once ranted to him about much he disliked Quidditch now (more specifically, Quidditch at Hogwarts). Still, that didn't mean Harry hated flying. He just hadn't much of a chance, what with the Dementors, and his promise to Professor Lupin not to go outside without an adult capable of casting the Patronus Charm. Unfortunately, that also meant he wouldn't have much of a chance to test out the Firebolt for the rest of the year, or until whenever the Ministry decided to recall the Dementors back to Azkaban. So, the broomstick simply went into his chest, where it would sit for a while next to the Nimbus 2000 McGonagall had gotten him in First Year.

It was slightly disheartening that none of his old friends had gotten him presents, but at least he wouldn't have to get them anything. Made his life a little easier.

And a little more lonely.

* * *

The castle was in an uproar. According to the rumors, Sirius Black had been in the castle just last night. He'd snuck into Gryffindor Tower, unimpeded by the portrait of Sir Cadogan, the temporary replacement for the Fat Lady, who refused to return after Black attacked her painting.

_When did that happen?_

Upon being granted access- Cadogan said Black got the right password, after listing off all the old ones from a sheet of parchment- Black went straight to the Third Year boy's dormitory, where he slashed up the bed curtains of one Ronald Weasley. The redhead had thought it a nightmare and passed out within moments, but upon waking up and finding the torn fabric, he shrieked loud enough to even wake up the girls, who were on the opposite side of the Tower. Ron was currently in the Hospital Wing, drugged to the gills with Calming Draughts, lest he turn into a babbling psychopath. There was talk of bringing in Mind Healers for the boy who had come face-to-face with a deranged murderer.

Meanwhile, McGonagall was _furious_. She had stomped into the Great Hall upon learning that Black somehow had a list of the passwords, and demanded, in all her Scottish fury, to know who had created such a thing. There were even two Aurors flanking her, since that person was currently suspected of aiding and abetting an escaped criminal. After the threat of questioning every single person in Hogwarts, student or otherwise, Neville Longbottom reluctantly confessed. He was taken to the DMLE offices for interrogation, despite his insistence that he simply could not remember the passwords without writing them down. Aside from that, he was stripped of his right to Hogsmeade visits, given detention for the rest of the year, and received a public Howler from his incredibly-vocal Gran soon afterwards.

To make things worse, nobody was allowed to tell Neville the weekly portrait password. He would have to wait for somebody to open it for him, or travel with someone else. Unfortunately, since he had no friends, there were very few people willing to do either. As a result, Neville spent many nights huddled in front of the Tower entrance, shivering against the cold stone. His terrible grades plummeted further, somehow. There were a few small rumors that he likely wouldn't pass Third Year, usually accompanied by snickers.

* * *

"Neville."

"H-Harry!?" the pudgy boy cried, not expecting to be approached by anyone due to his disgrace.

"Follow me."

"W-where to?" Neville asked warily. He'd been pulled aside into many side corridors and hexed to unconsciousness by many of his fellow students, and he knew that Harry Potter was powerful. If the emerald-eyed boy were to do the same, it would probably hurt more than normal.

"Somewhere safe."

Despite his misgivings, Neville figured he had nothing to really lose, and only another night in the Hospital Wing to gain. So, he followed.

* * *

"W… What _is_ this place?"

"This is the Room of Requirement. It's where I've been living since I got kicked out of the Tower last year. It can make beds to sleep in, bathrooms with showers, tables to study at- pretty much anything you think of, and the Room can do it. You can call on the House Elves to bring food, too, which is why I don't go to the Great Hall often these days."

Neville, having grown up in a traditional magical household, knew what House Elves were. He had a few back at Longbottom Manor. Still, the rest of the things that Harry claimed seemed a bit unbelievable… Then again, this was _magic _they were talking about. Neville decided to accept what the boy was saying, but that still didn't explain everything.

"W-why are you showing me this, Harry?"

Harry stared at him for a few moments, expression undecipherable. "I'm not going to lie to you, Neville. I pity you. I find you pathetic. To me, you are the epitome of weakness and incompetence; lacking magical power, the ability to make coherent sentences, and completely missing anything resembling a backbone. You are more worthless than the dirt I walk upon."

Against his best wishes, tears had sprung to Neville's eyes, and took a step back as if struck. "W-why…?"

"That's why, I'm going to help you become the strongest. Starting _now_."

* * *

_Why is there a dog here?_

Harry had taken a rare trip down to Hogsmeade to stock up on some quills and ink, as well as pick up a few things for Neville. He still had one or two, but was worried they wouldn't last through the entire week. So, he headed on down to the horseless carriages, climbed into an empty one, and was towed to the village. Once there, he hopped out, and caught sight of the black mutt.

It was staring at him intensely, intelligence obvious in its grey eyes. After a drawn out moment, Harry walked over, and slowly held a hand out in front of him. The dog hesitantly crept forward, and poked his palm with a wet nose. Then, it barked happily, and began licking his hand. Harry smiled, bringing his other hand around to scratch it under the chin, kneeling so he could reach better.

"What's your name, hm?" Harry asked, patting the dog on its rather bony flank. He frowned a bit when he noticed how tangled and dirty the long hair was.

The dog stuck its nose against his cheek, and began sniffing incredibly loud, almost exaggeratedly.

"Alright, I guess I'll call you Sir Snuffles-A-Lot. Snuffles, for short."

* * *

Obviously, Harry couldn't very well bring Snuffles back to the castle via carriage, and he _definitely_ couldn't bring him in through the Entrance Hall. Dumbledore might like Harry, but he'd probably still uphold the rules. It wouldn't do to show favoritism, after all. So, he'd have to go find out about some less-than-legal methods to move in and out of the castle. Who better to ask than the Weasley Twins? So, he approached them as they were leaving the Great Hall.  
"Fred, George, walk with me."

"Oh, it's ickle Harrikins!"

"Although, he's not really very ickle anymore, is he?"

"No, I suppose not, oh brother of mine. I miss the days when he was just a tiny little Firstie."

"Too right- back when we could actually prank him and get a good reaction."

"Yup. Now it's all fire and brimstone if he stubs his toe."

The Twins wisely shut up when Harry glanced over his shoulder at them, steam curling off his robes. They followed silently until they reached an empty classroom, the three slipping in. Harry cast an eye around, and satisfied that they were alone, turned back to the troublemakers.

"Alright, what do you two know about secret entrances into the castle?"

Their grins were, admittedly, rather disturbing.

"We thought you'd never ask, Harry!" they said in unison. One of them pulled out a rather large piece of parchment, laying it onto a desk.

"Were you expecting this?" Harry asked, bemused.

"Yup! Considering how rare it is to see you these days, we figured you were spending your time outside the castle."

"Oh? And how do you know I wasn't just in an out-of-the-way classroom?"

"That would be because of _this_."

One of the Twins pulled out their wand, poking it to the piece of parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good!"

Ink appeared suddenly, scrawling across the piece of paper in a series of boxes, circles, and swirls. At the top of the parchment, an underlined label appeared; _The Marauder's Map_. To the left-hand side, a series of numbers, descending from seven to two, then becoming the letters G and D. Then, the red dots started showing up. Each had a small name underneath, some of which Harry recognized- such as Ronald Weasley, moving away from the area labelled _Great Hall_\- but some were a bit less familiar, like Penelope Clearwater. He vaguely recalled that she was one of the people petrified by Naga's mother last year, but that was about all he knew of her. The dot labeled as Clearwater was incredibly close to the dot labeled Percy Weasley. In fact, they were almost on top of each other, and the box they were in was incredibly small.

"Is this…?" Harry began, but was unable to finish the sentence due to his shock.

"A map of the school?"

"With the names of everybody in the castle labeled?"

"Telling us their exact location at all times?"

"As well as revealing any secret passages?"

"Why, yes it is, Harry!" they cheered in unison. Harry just stared at them for a while.

"I think we broke him, Fred."

"Dear brother of mine, I think you might be right for once."

"Oi, I'll have you know I'm right more often than you are!"

"Remember last Potions class?"

"Listen, it's not _my_ fault that newt tails look like salamander tails!"

"Yes, but it _is_ your fault for not reading the labels correctly, you dolt!"

"Hey!" Harry barked, interrupting them. "Secret passages?"

"Ah, right. Well, that would depend on where you're going."

"Hogsmeade."

"Then you'll be wanting to look at the Third Floor." A Twin tapped the number three to the side of the castle layout. Whereas the G was circled before, now it was the three, and with it, the floor plan changed, as did all the dots and names. _So those are to show which floor is being shown at the moment. I'm assuming G is Ground, and D is Dungeon._

The other Twin pointed to a section of the hallway outside the room labeled _DADA classroom_. Two lines branched off from the seemingly solid walls, forming a corridor, and in between was written _One-Eyed Witch Passage_.

"That leads to the cellar of Honeydukes. Wanna go now?"

* * *

"_Dissendium_."

The statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor slid three feet to the right, revealing a dark cavern behind it.

"Well, this is the way, mate."

"Best of luck!"

"Try not to get caught when you get back!"

With that, the Twins walked off, waving to Harry. The emerald-eyed boy stared into the darkness for a few moments, before stepping inside. The statue slid to a shut behind him, cutting off all light until he tossed up a _Lumos_. One long walk later, Harry exited the corridor in a dusty place, full of cobwebs and dankness. It looked like nobody had been down here in ages, which was probably how people have been using this secret exit without being caught, and the Honeydukes employees sealing it up. There was a visible path on the ground from where previous generations of Hogwarts students tread on their way to and from Hogsmeade. It led to a set of stairs, which brought Harry outside behind the sweets shop, rather than into the main floor. That was good.

First, Harry cast the Point-Me Spell, directing it to point him towards Snuffles the dog. With a quick set of stealth spells (Disillusionment, Silencers, and Track-Removers), Harry was walking quickly through Hogsmeade. He ended up a fair distance outside the village, coming upon a dilapidated shack, which looked ready to fall apart at any moment. Casting the Point-Me Spell again revealed that, unfortunately, this _was_ the right place, so Harry cautiously opened the door.

"Snuffles?" he called, casting a _Lumos_. The place wasn't as broken down on the inside as he'd expected- at least, there weren't any holes leading to the outside of the building. There wasn't any furniture, but a few bookshelves lines the wall. That was about it.

"Snuffles?" Harry called again, louder. He glanced around once more, and saw that there was a set of stairs leading downstairs. Steeling himself, Harry walked down, wand in front of him. He was ready for just about anything- except to come across a man laying on a tattered mattress.

Harry froze, not even putting out his light. Minutes passed, and when the man did not stir, Harry concluded that he was likely asleep. Confused, Harry crept around the mattress, peering at the man's face with the aid of his magical light. Black hair, that looked like it would be wavy or curly had it not been so matted with filth. A gaunt face, which may have once had sharp edges and chiseled facets once upon a time. A shaggy goatee, and unkempt mustache. For some reason, he looked familiar…

The man's eyes snapped open suddenly, revealing grey pupils, and he shot into a sitting position.

"James?" he whispered, before catching sight of the boy's eyes. "_Harry!?_"

"Sirius Black."

The man hopped up, arms spread wide as if he was going to try and capture Harry in a rib-crushing hug. Harry did not plan on letting that happen. As soon as Black rose, he rushed forward, shoving his wand underneath the criminal's chin.

"_Don't. Move."_

Black froze, eyes wide and jaw unhinged, almost like he hadn't been expecting to be attacked at all. Harry chalked it up to surprise that a child could move so fast, and ignored it.

"H-Harry? What're ya d-!?"

"_Shut up!"_ Harry barked, jabbing his wand at the man's throat, making him choke and stumble back a step. Black looked hurt, which made no sense. Then again, he'd been in prison for well over a decade. Crazy probably didn't even begin to describe him, as evident by his calling Harry _James_.

"I should kill you right now," Harry muttered, tightening his grip on his wand. The emerald light glowing at its tip emphasized his point, and Black looked truly frightened. He opened his mouth- to scream, or to say something, Harry didn't know- and Harry flicked his wand, sending the Killing Curse flying.

This time, Black _did_ scream, as he dove out of the way. Luckily for him, Harry had aimed over the man's shoulder, because by the time he moved, the spell had long since passed him, blowing a chunk out of the dirt wall. Instead, Harry hit the man with a Stunner, following up with an _Incarcerous, Petrificus Totalus_, Leg Lockers, then finishing off by Transfiguring the dirt into steel chains that wrapped tightly around Black.

Harry sighed, staring at his wand. He had no clue how he cast the Killing Curse- there was no denying what the spell was- but he couldn't worry about that right now.

"Fawkes!"

* * *

Dumbledore sighed. "I do believe I'm getting too old for this, dear boy. How, exactly, did you simply _come across_ Sirius Black?"

"I went to find a dog, but I found him instead."

The two wizards stared at each other for a long while, before Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. He realized that he would get nothing more from Harry with anything short of a full-on interrogation, and that just wasn't his style. The old man rose from his comfy chair.

"Well, then I will contact the DMLE and-"

"Wait."

Dumbledore paused, looking at the boy with a raised eyebrow.

"I want to talk to him. I want to know _why_."

The Headmaster nodded tiredly. Rather than going to the fireplace, he walked over to his shelves of odd knick-knacks. Tapping the side of the wall with his wand, the shelf flipped over, revealing a variety of bottled potions on the other side. Dumbledore grabbed one, and walked over to the still-unconscious Black. He forced the man's mouth open, then poured three drops of the clear liquid into his mouth. The potion was sent back to its place with a flick of his wrinkled hand, and another hid the potions from sight.

"That was Veritaserum, a potion which compels the drinkers to tell the truth in response to _any_ question they are asked, regardless of their personal feelings on it. Since it is a compulsion-based magic, a strong enough Occlumens can fight it off… However, I doubt anyone would be able to do so after twelve years of being surrounded by Dementors."

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore Revived Black, who merely opened his eyes. Another wave, and the man was able to at least move his head around.

"What is your name?" Dumbledore asked.

"Sirius Orion Black." The answer was delivered monotonously, Black's eyes glazed over.

"When were you born?"

"November Third, Nineteen Fifty-Nine."

Dumbledore nodded to Harry. "The Veritaserum has taken effect. Ask away, Mr. Potter."

Harry stepped forward, a fierce glare fixed on Black. "Why did you betray my parents?"

"I did not."

Harry's head whipped toward Dumbledore, who looked just as shocked as him, his spectacles slipping halfway down his nose. Harry swallowed back some saliva, and licked his lips.

"Then how did Voldemort find them?"

"Peter Pettigrew told him the secret location of their house in Godric's Hollow."

Dumbledore gasped, and Harry knew they had reached the same conclusion. However, he had to be absolutely sure.

"Who… Who was the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm?"

"I was the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius that Dumbledore cast. When he left, James and Lily dissolved it, and cast a new one with Peter as the Secret Keeper. I told them it was a better idea, because as James' best friend, I was the most obvious choice."

Harry staggered back, falling heavily into a chair, and Dumbledore took over the questioning from there.

"Do you have a Dark Mark?"

"No."

"Have you ever, at any point in time, past or present, been allied with the Dark Lord Voldemort?"  
"No."

"Who cast the new Fidelius Charm?"

"Lily cast it, with James as the property owner, and Peter as the Secret Keeper."

"What happened to Mr. Pettigrew?"

"After I heard that Voldemort had attacked Godric's Hollow, I went over there to try and help. They were already dead, but I found Peter in the house. He picked up a wand, which I don't think was his, and ran. I stayed to take care of Harry, but Hagrid came, so I left Harry with him and went after Peter. I cornered him on a street in Muggle London, and he started yelling about how he couldn't believe that I'd betray James and Lily, even though I didn't. Then, he cast a spell that blew up the street, killing a bunch of Muggles. He cut off one of his fingers and left it on the ground, then turned into a rat and went into the sewers. He's hiding as Ronald Weasley's pet."

"Wait, what? He turned into a rat?" Harry asked, temporarily coming out of his stupor.

"It was his Animagus form." Sirius responded.

"What's an Animagus?"

"A wizard that can turn into an animal, but still have complete control over their minds. It's different from Human-to-Animal Transfiguration, where the wizard gains the same instincts as the animal."

Dumbledore shivered- it was odd to hear the notoriously irresponsible Sirius Black giving a lecture. "How do you know Pettigrew is Ronald Weasley's pet?"

"Fudge tossed a newspaper into my cell during his annual inspection. On the front cover was a picture of the Weasley family, something about how they'd won a free trip to Egypt. I saw the rat on Ronald Weasley's shoulder, and I knew it was Peter. It was missing the pinky of its left hand, the same finger that Peter cut off twelve years ago."

Dumbledore swallowed heavily, wrinkled face paling until it was the same shade as his magnificent beard.

"Mr. Potter, I do believe we have a problem."

* * *

The Fat Lady swung open when the Headmaster told her the override password, her portrait slamming against its hinges. The old man looked to be in a rush, and she didn't exactly want to stand in his way, lest there be a repeat of the Black incident that caused her to vacate in the first place.

Luckily for Harry and Dumbledore, Ron was sitting at one of the tables in the Gryffindor Common Room, playing a round of Wizarding Chess with Dean Thomas. And, sitting right on top of the table, looking to be asleep, was Ron's pet rat, Scabbers.

A red light shot across the room, slamming into the rat and sending it off the table. Ron and Dean shouted, jumping up and scattering chess pieces. They looked ready to start a fight with whoever did that, until they saw a furious Harry and a stony-faced Dumbledore storming over to them. The boys had fear written all over their faces, but it morphed into confusion when the two passed them by, going to stand above the rat.

"Missing the left-most finger on his left hand… Black was right. Ron!" Harry shouted, startling the redhead. He jumped.

"Y-yeah?"

"How long have you had this rat?"  
"Uh… I just got him this year, but before that, Percy had him. You'll have to ask him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Lee Jordan. "Lee!"

"Um, yeah Harry?"

"Go find Percy, tell him to come down here. And get the Twins- tell them to bring the map." At the look of confusion and hesitance, Harry growled. "Just do it! They'll know what I mean."

Flames wreathed Harry's shoulders, his emerald eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight. Any second thoughts Lee had evaporated, replaced by terror of being burned at the stake, and he ran up the stairs to the dorm rooms.

For a few minutes, Harry and Dumbledore waited, with more people trickling down the stairs to check out the commotion. Hermione and Ginny walked up to ask Harry about the situation, but a venomous glare kept their mouths shut. Finally, Lee came back, Percy and the Twins in tow.

"Percy!" Harry shouted, before the Head Boy had even made it off the stairs, "How long have you had Scabbers!?"

The oldest redhead in the castle blinked in confusion, then tilted his head as he thought it over. "I'd say… A little over twelve years?"

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. The times matched up. "Fred, George, come over here!"

The Twins complied, one of them carrying a piece of parchment in their hands. When they saw the Headmaster, they tried to squirrel it away, but Harry Summoned it with a wave of his hand, ripping it from their grasp. Once in his hand, he tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The Marauders Map bled into existence, and Harry looked to the corner where Gryffindor Tower was located. The Map conveniently showed the level they were on, so Harry looked for his own name. Next to it was _Headmaster, Ronald Weasley, Dean Thomas,_ and…

"Wormtail? Who the fuck…?" Harry muttered. He looked back and forth between the map and the rat on the floor. Their positions corresponded, but the name was not what he'd been expecting at all.

"Alright, I've let you run roughshod long enough, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said amusedly. "The rest of you return to your dorms, please. That is an order."

Very few people moved, despite the Headmaster's stern gaze. They were more focused on trying to get a look at Harry and the rat, which pissed the boy off.

"_Move!"_ he shouted, an inferno roiling in his mouth, wispy Fiendfyre skulls popping up to float near him. _That_ got them out of there. They were nearly running, pushing past each other to get as far away from Harry as they could. Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look, but Harry ignored it. Once everyone was gone- including Ron and the Twins, with the assurance that they'd get the Map back- Harry turned to the old man.

"Can you turn him back to his human form?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, almost like he didn't want to do it at all. However, he pulled his wand out, and pointed it at Scabbers. Within seconds, the rat began growing, taking on the form of a portly, disfigured, wart-covered, buck-toothed, all-around disgusting man. If Hermione thought _her_ teeth were bad…

Harry glanced down at the Marauder's Map, and saw that, where Wormtail had once been, now sat Peter Pettigrew.

Pettigrew woke up after his forced shift, and began looking around in alarm. When he saw the hateful glare of Harry, and the devastated stare of Dumbledore, he squeaked. He tried to turn into his rat form again, but Harry slammed a Bone Breaker into both the man's legs. His shrill shrieks of pain echoed through the Tower.

"Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore cried, scandalized.

"Save it!" Harry barked. "This bastard got my parents killed- _he's_ the reason I had to live with the Dursleys. This is _nothing_." It seemed that Harry wasn't as over the past as he thought he was.

"H-Harry, I swear, I didn't do anything to James and Lily! It was all Black's fault- _he_ was the one that led the Dark Lord to Godric's Hollow!" Pettigrew shouted, trying desperately to beg for his life.

"I said _SAVE IT!" _Harry roared, the tip of his wand glowing a brilliant emerald green as he drew it back. Dumbledore acted in an instant, shooting half a dozen Stunners at Harry, causing him to slump to the ground. The Killing Curse fizzled out, along with the Fiendfyre which had been steadily melting the stone floor.

Dumbledore stared in shock at the emerald-eyed boy, who was so willing to kill at such a young age, and wondered just where he had gone wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

A trial had been had, and Sirius Black was found innocent, then taken to St. Mungo's, where he would remain for the better part of a year. Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to life in Azkaban. British Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had fought against having a trial at every step, and had apparently been incredibly pale at the conclusion, after the incompetence of his predecessor was exposed. Fortunately, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was no coward, and she ran roughshod all over the Minister's protests. It had cost her though, according to Dumbledore- the DMLE found its budget cut before the week's end.

Surprisingly, very few on the Wizengamot opposed Bones, regardless of their political alignment; even the Darkest of the Dark had been appalled at the possibility of the Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble being falsely incarcerated and exposed to Dementors for over a decade.

Meanwhile, Harry was in for another seemingly uneventful summer at Hogwarts. At the very least, he would be joined by Neville Longbottom, his apprentice of sorts. The boy had petitioned his Gran to stay at Hogwarts to try and make up for both his atrocious performance and nearly-criminal offense, and the old woman was all for it. She was, however, not happy that Neville had gotten another wand. Apparently, the one he'd been using had been owned by his father, a long-term patient in St. Mungo's Insanity Ward due to excessive exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. As Ollivander was fond of saying, the wand chooses the wizard, and in this case, the wand had _not_ chosen the wizard. Neville's new wand was made of blackthorn wood, with a unicorn hair core, eleven inches long, and astoundingly rigid. Perfect for a warrior fighting to set this world right, according to the wandmaker. The boy had blushed terribly at the praise, and Harry had yet to see any of the unyielding bravery that the rigidity suggested.

However, the gentle boy was getting there. He was fairly fit now- he couldn't very well stay chubby when he was dodging spells for the majority of the day- and much less inclined to flinch in the face of overwhelming power. He gave as good as he got, and he was improving- that as all Harry cared about.

As for Harry, he seemed to have reached an impasse in his training. His exponential growth had finally finished, and he'd set into a more comfortable, constant pace of improvement. His mind, also, began to settle. He was no longer shooting from end-to-end of the emotional spectrum, switching between fiery rage and icy apathy at the drop of a hat. After finding out that he could perform the Killing Curse with hardly any provocation (Harry still thought that it was plenty justified when standing in front of his parents' murderer), Dumbledore had pulled the boy out of his classes for a bit and really put on the pressure for Harry to stabilize himself. Between fire and ice, Harry had reached a happy medium of slightly-chilled water, and was working on maintaining that balance in tense situations. The old man was pleased with his progress, so Harry assumed he was doing well in that aspect.

As for _why_ he had such command over those elements, Dumbledore had explained to him that it was simply a trait amongst wizards- elemental preferences. They existed in all magical entities, determining their personalities, and slightly affecting their capabilities with certain spells. The Potters tended to lean more towards the side of fire, which is why they were well-known for their spontaneity. These traits very rarely manifested as strongly as they did in Harry, and definitely _not_ to the point of summoning Fiendfyre, or the world would be a very different place. That was, Dumbledore theorized, a side-effect of his intense magical power.

However, despite the Potter family's tendency for heat, Dumbledore believed that Harry's natural affinity was that of ice. Wizards did not naturally have two, and it was likely that the fire came from being injected with two pieces of Voldemort's soul. The Headmaster remembered that Tom Riddle leaned toward fire, resulting in his short temper. It was possible that the black magic of Horcruxes had altered that fire aspect before it was implanted into Harry, corrupting it in such a way that it was able to summon hellish Fiendfyre as it did. It made sense to Harry, so he wouldn't question it.

Beyond the hows and whys of elemental affinities, it seemed that Harry was able to manipulate them, separately and in unison. With a combination of fire and ice, Harry could summon floods of water, which could then be flash-frozen into deadly icicles. Apply a little more heat, and steam would appear in great clouds, turning whatever room he was in into a Muggle sauna. Removing the ice completely, he could obviously turn his rage into Fiendfyre. However, according to Dumbledore, there was something called _cold fire_, which could only be utilized with a calm mind in the face of overwhelming rage. He'd work at it, but given his track record with controlling his anger…

* * *

On his fourteenth birthday, Harry received a letter from Ginny, which was slightly surprising. He was sure she had forgotten about him, considering the last time they talked was… Seven months ago? What was even more surprising was that she somehow remembered it was his birthday, and to top it all off, she was inviting him to the Quidditch World Cup. They would be joined by the rest of the Weasley clan, Hermione, and the Lovegoods.

Now, Harry may not have been especially fond of Quidditch, but that was more a dislike for actually playing the sport. He didn't exactly have anything against watching it, and a tournament on the professional level promised to at least be entertaining. On August First, Harry floo'd from the Headmaster's office to the Burrow, and followed the Weasley's to the mass portkey which would take all the wizards in the Ottery St. Catchpole area to the World Cup stadium grounds.

Mrs. Weasley crushed him in a hug, followed by an embarrassed/apologetic Ginny, an airy Luna, and a hesitant Hermione. Harry remained distant; aware, but unwilling to participate in the awkward silence that had descended on the group of former friends.

"Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Weasley. I appreciate the chance to get out of the castle every now and then," Harry said cordially, and Molly smiled.

"Oh, of course! No young person should stay cooped up in such a dusty place anyways- always nice to stretch your legs, I say."

Harry nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. He followed the group to the area where their tent was. Harry would be rooming with Ron and the Twins for the two weeks. Ginny, Hermione, and Luna would group up, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley obviously got their own quarters. That left Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father, to bunk with Percy, Charlie and Bill.

Harry felt a bit awkward sharing a room with Ron, who he was not particularly fond of. However, that was offset by his pleasant acquaintanceship with Fred and George, as well as his gratitude towards the Weasleys for allowing him to join. In the face of all that, he decided it would be a better idea to not antagonize the boy- not that he'd do so purposefully- because he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Plus, it took a lot less energy to ignore the ill-mannered redhead than it did to focus on all his faults. That energy would be better put to use with maintaining his physical condition, and reading a bit from the books he'd taken from Hogwarts' Restricted Section. Currently, he was looking into the types of things that could be done with runes and wards, to determine if it would actually be worth it to continue Ancient Runes after obtaining his O.W.L.

Bill Weasley was a particularly good resource for that endeavor. Bill had been working as a Gringotts Curse-Breaker for a little less than four years, since his graduation from Hogwarts, and had a slew of experience. He'd thrown himself fully into his work to get away from his overbearing mother, who would assault him with pleas to quit his current job and become a _respectable_ employee of the Ministry of Magic. As such, there were quite a few things Bill knew about runes and wards, which he was more than happy to share with the curious teen. Fred and George also proved to be surprisingly knowledgeable, though their expertise was rather limited to things more useful for pranks. Still, that didn't have to be their _only_ purpose.

Charlie Weasley was also incredibly interesting. He worked on a dragon preserve in Romania, and had gotten up-close and personal with more of the beasts than a thousand average wizards would see in their long lifespans. His stories were hilarious, detailing the foolish antics him and his coworkers got up to in their copious amounts of free time (dragons did not require much micromanaging), though he also had many good tales about the dragons themselves; mating rituals, behaviors both odd and normal, how they dealt with life in general… For majestic creatures that wizards seemed to be in awe of, they were actually rather peaceful. Very few dragons were mindless murder machines that spewed fire at anything that existed.

Like Bill, Charlie was incredibly enthusiastic about his work, and sharing it with Harry. The boy amusedly wondered if they were trying to promote their jobs, and see if they couldn't get him to follow in their footsteps. Considering the things they described, however, Harry didn't doubt one of them would be successful. He'd just have to wait and see.

Percy, obviously, joined in on the conversations, waxing eloquent about the benefits of a Ministry job, with Mrs. Weasley cheering him on in the background. Unfortunately, Harry simply could not see himself working under the same corrupt organization that had imprisoned Sirius Black- whom he'd found out was actually his godfather, as well as blood-adopted father- in Azkaban for twelve years. Especially not when people like Cornelius Fudge could get elected Minister. He didn't say as much, instead opting for silence in the face of Percy's rants.

Then, there was Ron, who for some reason still thought of himself as Harry's friend. It was likely because Harry had never said anything outright rude to him, and the young redhead took Harry's silence as agreement with whatever he was saying. The boy rambled on about Quidditch, as normal; player statistics, recent matches, which up-and-comer was likely to make it big, and, of course, the Chudley Cannons. The boy still thought they were good, despite them having never even come close to winning a game in at least fifty years. He also liked to mourn Harry's dead Quidditch career, and its incredibly short lifespan. Ron channeled his inner Oliver Wood whenever he lamented the pants-ness of the current Gryffindor Seeker, who'd lost them many a game due to his lack of talent. He'd even asked Harry, more than once, to consider rejoining the team, and received a simple shake of the head for his troubles.

Hermione seemed to be doing her absolute best to be near Harry, seemingly waiting for a chance to be alone with him so she could try and repair their twice-shattered relationship. Harry saw the significant looks she was sending him, acknowledged them, and promptly ignored them. He didn't fancy making himself vulnerable to her fickle friendship for a third time (Fool me twice, and all that…), and so simply made sure he was always in the company of one of the abundant redheads. Even Ron, because Hermione refused to be near him. Harry had no clue why, but it worked to his advantage.

Ginny, thankfully, understood Harry's silent grievances with her. She sometimes stared at him sorrowfully when she thought he wasn't looking, and her smiles were a touch sad when directed at him. That didn't stop her from being the rambunctious young woman she was growing into, but she toned it down a bit in Harry's presence.

Luna was… Luna. She'd taken to stroking his hair for some unfathomable reason. The odd actions were made even more strange when one took into account Harry's seemingly-spontaneous aversion to touch. These days, he always wore long sleeves and gloves, a black scarf wrapped around his neck and covering the lower half of his face, leaving very little skin visible. As a result, nobody could believe that Harry was allowing Luna to do as she pleased. Fred and George shot him sly smirks whenever it happened, but they were promptly ignored.

* * *

August Eighteenth, the day of the match that would determine the winner of the Quidditch World Cup. It would also put an end to the festival that was the World Cup. The prior two weeks had been spent playing carnival-esque games, watching the Quidditch teams practice, and even for the spectators to get the chance to meet the famous players. Merchandise was sold for ridiculous prices, along with sub-standard food that people still brought by the plate-full. Interviews and press conferences were had, where the pros talked about the upcoming match, sprinkling a healthy amount of flowery speeches, designed to show humbleness and sportsmanship and whatnot. It all lead up to the final match. The next day, the audience would return to their homes, and the stadium would be packed up, not to be seen for another four years.

This time around, the two teams that would be facing off were Ireland and Bulgaria. Ireland was an all-around powerhouse, with well-coordinated Chasers, deadshot Beaters, and an all-seeing Keeper. Meanwhile, Bulgaria had Viktor Krum. Sure, he was the best Seeker in the league, at the tender age of seventeen, but the rest of the Bulgarian team was rather mediocre, to be honest. It was only Krum's speedy-quick retrieval of the Snitch which had gotten them this far.

And, perhaps, the cheerleaders. A squad of leggy, curvaceous, luscious blondes captured the attention of the majority of the males in the stadium, including those on the pitch. Men around Harry literally began to drool as they stared at the gorgeous women, seemingly feeling no shame. The females looked properly outraged, many a witch slapping their male companions. Harry, having no clue what was going on, decided it would be better to not draw attention to himself by asking.

The game started soon after, and as expected, the Irish dominated the Quaffle game. They scored within the first five minutes, and only added to their point value after that. Meanwhile, the Seekers were cruising around. Every now and then, Krum would act as if he'd seen the Snitch, and take off at a breakneck pace, diving incredibly low to the ground, then pulling up at the last second. He was followed each time by the opposing Seeker, who wasn't taking the chance that Krum _had_ seen the Snitch.

Krum was famous for his success with the Wronski Feint, having taken many Seekers out of the game after devastating collisions with the ground. Ireland's Seeker had enough sense to not follow all the way through, but it cost him an hour later, once Krum had actually seen the Snitch. The Bulgarian dipped low, enough that he could almost graze his feet against the grass, and snapped vertical in a split-second, shooting up like a rocket. The Irish Seeker had slowed down to avoid being caught in the Feint, but by the time he'd brought his broom back up to speed, Ludovic Bagman, the commentator, had announced that Krum had caught the Snitch.

Unfortunately, with the catching of the Snitch, the game ended in Ireland's victory. Bulgaria had only had ten points, with the Snitch bringing them up to one hundred sixty, just below Ireland's hundred seventy. Krum didn't seem discouraged, fist pumping and brandishing the golden ball for the entire stadium to see. The Bulgarian cheerleaders, on the other hand, were a fair bit more… _Volatile_. They morphed into odd, avian-like creatures, and began tossing fire at the opposing team's mascots, a group of haughty leprechauns. It was an amusing sight, but it threw the rest of the audience into turmoil, drunk wizards swinging at each left and right. Harry's group snuck out amidst the chaos, some horrified by the lack of decorum, while the majority of them were laughing loudly.

* * *

Terrified screams rang through the air, between the sounds of explosion, and Mrs. Weasley answered with her own shriek of horror. She leapt to her feet, and began running around the tent, yelling for everybody to get up and get out. Within less than five minutes, the entire group was outside, running for the forest at the edge of the stadium grounds, where they would presumably be able to hide. In the distance, Harry could see fires raging, the flames rising high into the air and consuming all they touched.

Despite Mrs. Weasley urging them on in a shrill voice, Harry paused in his stride when he heard cries of pain from nearby. Deciding that he could meet back up with the Weasley's if he found nothing, he veered away from the group, casting a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself just so they wouldn't see him. Of course, since they were all focused on not tripping or running into any danger, and Harry was at the back of the group, nobody noticed his departure.

A few minutes and a couple turns later, Harry came across what seemed to be a family of four. A grey-haired man was being held in place by a group of black-robed, masked individuals. One of them was holding the man's head so he was looking at the three females, who varied in age. One adult, one teen, and one child. They all had platinum-blonde hair, and the two older women looked strikingly like the Bulgarian cheerleaders. They also had more robed individuals bearing down on them, ripping at their clothes, while removing their own.

Harry had a fairly good idea of what was going to happen if he left now, so he intervened. A trio of Piercing Hexes shot through the heads of three attackers, killing them instantly and blowing their corpses away from the women. A high-powered Reductor slammed into a fourth, disintegrating his entire upper body in a bloody mist, and taking half the head of a fifth who was unlucky enough to be too close. The sixth began turning towards Harry, but was run through by a lance of ice. When he fell, and the women were safe, Harry ran over to them.

A wave of his hand Summoned the man away from the attackers, and another Transfigured a sturdy stone dome to cover the four. Meanwhile, the enemies finally got their wits together, and began firing spells.

Harry made sure to not dodge, as that would leave the immobile family behind him in danger. So, he stuck to shielding and spell-swatting, a trick he'd learned towards the end of the school year.

When a Killing Curse was launched, and subsequently blocked by a piece of stone, Harry decided to move on the offensive. A flurry of spells flew from his wand, matching the pace of the six men, putting them on the defensive. Any spells they managed to lob at Harry were slapped aside with his magic-imbued fingertips, or intercepted by Levitated rubble. Half of them were shielding, while the other half had to cast around the magical shields, lest they break their own cover. As such, return fire was rather inaccurate, since they quickly pulled back behind cover to avoid certain spells. Finally, once all six refused to come out from behind the rapidly-fading _Protego_, Harry Transfigured a series of dirt spikes behind the men, and pulled forward. His opponents were mauled by the javelins, and fell to the ground in pools of blood.

For a long moment, the immediate area was silent, the only noises Harry could hear being far in the distance. Releasing the breath he was holding, he waved his hand, removing the stone dome he stood next to. The family of four looked at him in shock. When they saw the corpses littering the ground, the eldest woman covered the young girl's eyes, pulling her close to her chest. Shakily, they stood up.

"Follow me," Harry told them, "We have to get the forest. We can hide there."

The man nodded shakily, grabbing his presumed-wife and presumed-older-daughter's hands, tugging them forward, while the wife held onto the presumed-youngest-daughter. They moved at a jog, and reached the edge of the woods in a few minutes, where the family stood, panting. The man turned to Harry.

"Thank you so much!" he cried, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezing. He spoke with a noticeable accent, though considering Harry's lack of worldly knowledge, he couldn't say where the man was from based on that. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't showed up!"

"Well, since nothing too bad happened, you don't need to worry about it," Harry responded evenly, unsure how to deal with such gratitude. The man nodded once more, and took a step back. His wife came forward, and squeezed Harry into a hug, followed by the youngest girl, who was babbling in a foreign language. The boy stiffened at the sudden contact, but eventually managed to force himself to relax. That didn't stop him from breathing a silent sigh of relief when he was released, however. The oldest daughter stepped forward, staring intensely at him.

"What is your name?" she asked softly. Harry titled his head, considering the question.

"Hadrian Black," he finally said. It wouldn't hurt to tell this little white lie, since he'd probably never see these people again. Plus, he rather liked the sound of that name. A damn sight better than _Harry Potter_, at least.

With some final words of thanks, the family departed, and Harry eventually found his way to the Weasley's, who berated and hugged him in equal measures.

* * *

Two weeks later, it was back to school. At the insistence of Mrs. Weasley, Harry stayed at the Burrow for the remainder of August, joining them on their Diagon Alley trip. Harry read Hermione's supply list to determine what he needed, and purchased it all in short order. He called on Pitts to bring him his trunk from the Room of Requirement, where he stored the new books, replenished stationary, and potion materials. He also made a quick stop at Madam Malkin's, to buy some new clothes. His old ones were getting a bit tight as he filled out and grew more, and he also had to buy a few more sets of gloves and scarves. Comments were made on his odd choice, but he simply told them he liked the style. They left him alone after that.

Taking the Hogwarts Express was rather nostalgic. He hadn't been to King's Cross Station in about two years, so he'd nearly forgotten what the red steam engine had looked like. That didn't make the trip anymore pleasant, however- not when he was crammed into a small car for over eight hours with people he'd rather not be near. He didn't exactly have anything _against_ Ron, Hermione, and Ginny… Just their choices to abandon him. Well, he definitely didn't like Ron's eating habits, but that was an entirely different story. Luna scratching his hair and ears kept him from subtly displaying his displeasure by lowering the temperature in the enclosed space to an uncomfortable degree. What had begun as a simple tic had evolved into a full-blown habit.

Neville joined them at some point. He'd gone back home for the last two weeks of August so he could prepare his greenhouses for the rest of the year, as well as do his own shopping. He hadn't done much over the summer aside from the training Harry had set for him, but he seemed rather pleased with his progress. Harry said he'd be testing the brown-haired boy, and for once, Neville Longbottom didn't look worried. Obviously, his hard work had done wonders for his confidence.

Daphne and Tracey eventually popped in, sitting down like they had been invited. Ron glared at them, appalled at the audacity of the filthy snakes. Hermione struck up polite conversation, and Neville joined in. Harry outright ignored them, giving them the same cold shoulder Daphne had given him. Luna kept ruffling his raven hair.

Draco poked his head in, Crabbe and Goyle behind him, with Pansy on his arm, and began spouting off some such nonsense that Harry didn't pay attention to. He insulted Ron and Ginny for being dirt-broke blood traitors, Hermione for being a mudblood, Tracey for being a halfblood, Daphne for sitting with such filth, and Luna for being Looney. After his incredibly long tirade, he turned to Harry, who looked like he was asleep, since his eyes were closed.

For a long moment, the Malfoy Heir stared at Harry, and grew aggravated that his "rival" wasn't giving him attention.

"Wake up, Potter!" he barked. When that elicited no response, Crabbe and Goyle came in, arms outstretched with the intent to grab Harry and yank him out the compartment. However, Neville surprised everyone by shooting to his feet and whipping out his wand the instant the meatheads crossed the doorway, a Stunner glowing at its tip. Slowly, the four Slytherins backed out, and everyone praised Neville for his bravery. Except Harry, of course, but nobody could tell if it was because he was actually asleep, or just not paying attention. Behind his scarf, though, he was smiling ever-so-slightly.

* * *

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… _Intense_. Harry knew he was going to enjoy this year, especially if it continued in this vein. A retired legendary Auror doing a lesson on the Unforgivables? Hell yes!

Neville seemed a bit uncomfortable with Mad-Eye Moody's demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse, but Harry's hand on his shoulder calmed him a bit. Ron, who still hadn't gotten over his fear of spiders, shrieked when one of the arachnids scuttled over his desk in a display of the Imperius Curse. Everyone shuddered at the vile aura of the Killing Curse. Then, Moody further surprised the class by announcing that he would be using the Imperius Curse on the students.

Draco was commanded to spill ink all over his precious hair. Ron jumped up onto a desk and began clucking like a chicken, flopping his elbows in a poor imitation of wings. Hermione ripped a page out of her Defense textbook, and was distraught for the rest of the period. Finally, it was Harry's turn.

"_Imperio!"_ Moody said firmly, pointing his wand at Harry. The golden spell shot from its tip, and slapped Harry in the face. The compulsion splashed against his mental barriers and dissipated, just as the light did with his head.  
"Potter, come over here and lick my boot!" Moody barked, pushing his intact leg forward.

Draco stared with unrepentant glee, sure that he was about to see something absolutely fantastic. Unfortunately for him, Harry didn't move. Moody tried again.

"Get on your hands and knees and bark like a dog!"

Harry still did not move, and the Professor raised an eyebrow. Harry saw the silent question.

"I don't think it's working, sir."

Moody boomed with laughter, grinning like the loon he was. "Good, good! Wasn't expecting any of ya brats to be able to resist the Imperius- takes a lot of willpower, that. Something a lot of those so-called _superior purebloods _seem to be lacking, since they all got _enchanted_ by the Dark Lord. Load of dragon dung, I say."

Draco, enraged by his hair being ruined and the jab at his ideals, stood up. He never did make the best decisions when angry.

"I may not be able to resist the Imperius, but I can still easily cast the other Unforgivables!"

The classroom was dead silent, as if everybody present had been hit with a certain green curse, and was laying in a pile of corpses. Slowly, Moody turned to the blond boy.

"You admittin' to me that you've got some practice, boy?"

Draco, somehow, didn't catch the threat. "No, but I know my skill level, and those spells are well within my abilities!"

Moody raised an eyebrow, insidiously this time, before he smirked cruelly. "Alright then, Malfoy- get down here and show us! I _promise_ I won't report you to the Aurors."

Draco finally realized he was standing with one foot in the grave. Unfortunately for the ponce, he couldn't sit down without completely ruining his reputation. Not that it was in particularly good shape, mind you. So, with a gulp, he palmed his wand, and strode down the aisle to the front of the classroom with as much dignity as he could muster.

Moody Levitated another spider from inside his box, and moved it to an empty spot on the floor. "Here, I'll even make it easy for ya." With a wave of his wand, the man cast and Engorgement Charm on the arachnid. "There; now ya can't miss! So, let's see it! Start with the Imperious, then the Cruciatus, and end off with the Killing Curse. I hope you were paying attention to my wand movements earlier."

Draco swallowed heavily once more, audible this time in the quiet classroom. He waved his wand in the correct pattern a few times with shaky hands, muttering to himself. Finally, he seemed to steel himself. He performed the movement, but this time pointed the tip of his wand at the spider. "_Imperio!_" he shouted.

Nothing happened. Not even a spark shot out of the boy's stick, and he stared at it in devastation. Desperately, he tried the other two Unforgivables.

"_Crucio! AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Still, nothing happened. Moody shook his head. "Alright, back to your seat, Malfoy- and you better learn to think before you speak! Now… Potter! Get down here. Let's see _you _try."

The tension in the room skyrocketed. Draco was heartened, a bit. He may have failed miserably, but at least he'd be able to watch his nemesis do the same. If he, a born-and-bred Death Eater, could not perform the Unforgivables, then what hope did the Golden Boy of Gryffindor have?

Harry rose gracefully and strode down the aisle. His arms swung idly at his side, gloved hands perfectly relaxed. When he reached the professor's side, a few students could see his wand poking out from under the sleeve of his robe.

"Well, Potter, you know the wand movements?" Harry nodded. "Then get to it."

Harry did the same thing Draco did, practicing the swishes for a few moments, before pointing his wand at the still-massive spider.

"_Imperio,_" he intoned, voice much calmer than Draco's. A ball of golden light blasted forward, washing over the spider.

"Jump three times and roll over," Harry commanded. The spider did as told. When Harry cut the spell, causing the spider to sag a bit as its muscles relaxed, Moody clapped a bit.

"Alright, now-" He was cut off when Harry raised a finger, in the universal _one moment_ gesture.

Harry waved his wand again, a bit faster this time. "_Imperio_," he said once more, though it came out as more of a mutter than anything. The spell hit the spider, and it jumped when it was ordered to. Then, on his third time, Harry simply flicked his wand once, silently, and achieved the same results.

Moody was looking at him with an appraising eye. "So, did away with the incantation and the wand movement? Impressive. See if you can do it with the Cruciatus."

"_Crucio_." The spider dropped to the floor, writhing in pain, spindly legs scraping against the floor. Harry did the same as with the Imperius, casting it twice more until he could do so efficiently.

"Alright. Now, the Killing Curse. 'Fraid ya won't be practicing that one, since I don't wanna run out of spiders."

Harry nodded, then flicked his wand a single time. A green jet of light slammed into the spider, knocking it back. It was dead long before it hit the floor.

* * *

The first week of classes wasn't even over yet, and everyone was already avoiding him like the plague. That included Hermione. Apparently, she wasn't actually serious about trying to fix their friendship. Harry stopped nodding to her in the halls. Ginny also seemed frightened of him, despite her not even being in the classroom. Harry had to remind himself that, even though she'd been possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle, she did not have the maturity of a sixteen-year-old maniac. She was still thirteen at heart, so of course those things would scare her. He didn't hold it against her, but did nothing to try and bridge the gap.

Luna didn't seem to care. She still came by and scratched him behind the ear whenever she saw him, usually after he had hunched over a bit. He'd grown two inches over the summer, to a height of five-foot-seven, and Luna, who was short even for her age group, could not reach her favorite spot. She pouted the first time he refused to move, and he didn't want to upset one of the few people who actually approached him these days. So, he suffered the indignation.

Surprisingly, Neville was a steady friend. Even though he could have returned to Gryffindor Tower- since it was well-known that Sirius Black was innocent and Neville _hadn't_ almost gotten them all killed- Neville stuck around in the Room of Requirement. He also put forth more effort into all he did, so Harry rewarded him by taking a bit more interest in his progress. He taught the brown-haired boy a few of his favorite (and somewhat Dark) spells, and some useful techniques. He even engaged in practice duels with the other boy, much to Neville's delight. It was good to have a measuring stick, Neville said, and Harry agreed. Speaking of which, he needed to reinstate his weekly duels with the Headmaster. It simply wouldn't do to deteriorate.

* * *

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir?"

"Yes, Pitts?" Harry asked, a bit startled by the house elf's sudden appearance. He normally only came when called.

"Headmaster Dumbles is wanting you to go to the Great Hall."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Did he say why?"

Pitts nodded, large ears flopping a bit. "He be saying that attendance be mandatory tonight."

Harry sighed. That hadn't actually answered his question, but he knew it wasn't Pitts' fault.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

When Pitts popped away, Harry called upon the Room to clear away the debris from his training, and supply him with a shower. A flick of his fingers had soap scrubbing him down thoroughly, while a second washed it all away, and the third dried him off. He quickly dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a purple sweater, readjusting his robe so his hood hung over the back of it. He pulled on his gloves and made sure his black scarf covered at least half of his face, before finally leaving the Room of Requirement.

He slipped in through one of the side doors, of which there were many, and leaned up against a nearby wall. There were new people here, he noticed. Some were dressed in light-blue robes, and sat at the Ravenclaw table. A group of red-robed people sat with the Slytherins. Harry was a bit surprised to recognize Victor Krum, of all people, sitting next to Draco, which the blond seemed to be enjoying massively.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry, somehow noticing the exact moment when the boy came in, and smiled at him. Harry returned the gesture with a nod, since his mouth was hidden.

"Welcome, those of you from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang! It is my great pleasure to host you here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" A smattering of polite applause sounded, but died away quickly. "I am honored to be hosting the Triwizard Tournament here in England, especially two centuries after it was initially abolished! I understand that many of you here wish to enter this Tournament, in the hopes of earning eternal victory by claiming the Triwizard Cup, but I bear solemn news. Unfortunately, only three Champions can be chosen- hence why it is called the _Tri-_wizard Tournament." That earned a few chuckles. "You may be wondering how those three Champions will be chosen, and I say, allow me to show you!"

WIth a grand wave of his wand, the massive doors at the main entrance of the Great Hall swung open ominously, and in floated a platform, with a huge chalice resting upon it. It looked to be made of wood, and wasn't particularly pretty. The carved surfaces were uneven and roughly hewn, lacking any type of intricate design. The rubies embedded in the rim of the chalice were gaudy, compounding its ugliness moreso than helping. It wasn't even polished!

However, all that could be ignored in the face of the blue-white flames roaring from within the cup's bowl. They somehow seemed noble, sentient in a pure way, unlike Fiendfyre, which was decidedly demonic. Those who stared directly into the flames felt an odd, foreign presence invade their bodies, and looked away quickly. It was almost as if those flames were trying to peer into their souls with nonexistent eyes, to judge them and burn away those found lacking. The floating stone platform was set down in the center of the Great Hall, where the chalice flared silently.

"This is the Goblet of FIre, the impartial judge which will be choosing the Champions! However, there is one rule as to who is eligible to enter their name; all participants must be above the age of sixteen years old."

Many Hogwarts students began chattering at the imagined unfairness, and Dumbledore fired a cannon blast into the air, quieting them down instantly. The old man cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed at their lack of decorum.

"This rule is for your own safety! As some of you may know, the Triwizard Tournament was originally banned because of the high death toll among competitors- in fact, even the spectators have been put in danger from time to time. We have taken many precautions to ensure the wellbeing of everyone involved in this event, and this is just another one of those safeguards. To enforce it, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet, which will prevent those below the specified age from approaching."

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and approached the Goblet. He muttered a few words, then walked around the chalice in a circle, his wand pointed at the stone floor the entire time. When he was done, a chalk-white line appeared about five feet away from the Goblet. He continued his speech where he stood.

"For those of you above the specified age, you will be able to simply ignore the Age Line. To enter the Tournament, you must write your name, and the school you are representing, on a piece of parchment, which you will then drop into the Goblet. Multiple entries will do you no good, because the Goblet chooses based on the ability and skills of the wizard or witch, not the amount of times their name appears. For you younger students, you will not be able to ask an older student to submit your name for you; the Goblet will not recognize a person entering a name other than their own."

Further groans. Dumbledore chuckled this time.

"Well, that is all I have to say. The Great Hall will be open for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow, so participants may be able to enter at any time. We will be choosing the Champions at tomorrow's Halloween Feast. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Triwizard Tournament has begun!"

* * *

Harry was in a rather foul mood. He'd tried to slip back out of the Great Hall as soon as Dumbledore had finished his speech, but found the doors locked. A glance at the old man revealed that he was the one responsible for his imprisonment, if his twinkling eyes and amused smirk were any indication. Harry furrowed his eyebrows into a glare, and the Headmaster simply replied with a jaunty wave. A few teachers glanced his way, but returned to their meals quickly.

With a sigh, Harry resigned himself to remaining by the door, and waiting until it unlocked. It was a good thing he'd brought a book with him out of habit, because otherwise he'd be bored out of his mind. Conjuring a chair, Harry sat down and began reading up on some warding theory.

At the half-hour mark, his stomach began to constrict slightly with hunger pains. However, he didn't quite feel like going to sit down at one of the House tables. The staff would likely not appreciate his terrorizing the students with his presence, since it might make a bad impression on the foreigners.

An hour or so passed, and Harry finished the book, just in time for the Feast to finally end. He rose, Vanished the chair, and went to slip out the same side door he came from. Unfortunately, it was _still _locked. Harry looked back at the Headmaster, who simply nodded his head towards the wide-open main doors. Harry snarled, the noise lost in the general clamor.

It took another few minutes for the majority of the crowd to shuffle out, which is when the boy finally pushed off the wall and began his journey back to the Room of Requirement. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be yet. He could feel a pair of eyes boring intently into his back. A quick glance at one of the suits of armor lining the halls revealed his stalker in the reflection; a young lady dressed in those baby-blue robes. He vaguely recognized her as the girl whose family he'd saved back at the World Cup. A bit disturbed, he began walking faster, very thankful for his newfound height, which allowed him to move much faster than the girl.

She also lengthened her strides, and actually began jogging after him, earning startled looks from any spectators. Harry had no wish to exert himself at the moment, and reluctantly allowed the girl to catch up with him.

"Is there something you need, Miss?" he asked bluntly, not even bothering to turn around. She looked shocked that he noticed her, but pressed on.

"You are Hadrian Black, yes?"

"That is the name I gave you, yes." His wording threw her off slightly.

"I…" She swallowed heavily. "I remember that I never told you _my _name. I am Fleur Delacour. Thank you, for what you did for my family. We are in your debt." She bowed at the waist.

"Well met, Miss Delacour."

Harry walked away, leaving a stunned woman in his wake.

* * *

"So, Harry… What's this about you and a French girl?"

Neville was lucky he'd had his wand in hand, otherwise those half-dozen overpowered Stinging Hexes would have collided with him rather than his shield. It was a good thing he'd been expecting the attack.

"Neville, I've come to respect you over these past few months. However, don't think I won't beat you into the ground if you ever accuse me of such nonsense again."

Neville grinned. "Like you wouldn't anyways?"

"Correct." Harry turned to the Longbottom Heir, wand raised, and the boy was drowned in a flurry of spells. His shield shattered, and he was pelted with magical lights, thrown onto his back and into unconsciousness.

_Worth it._

* * *

Dumbledore stood from his seat at the Head Table when all the students had eaten, and the remaining food was taken by the house elves. Harry was once more in his out-of-the-way spot at the edge of the Great Hall, sitting in a simple wooden chair.

"Welcome back, my friends! I do hope you've enjoyed your stay at Hogwarts so far?" Polite applause answered the old man's question, and he smiled jovially. "Good, good! Tonight, we are gathered here to determine which student from each school will participate in the Triwizard Tournament!" The clapping was now much more enthusiastic, and it took a good few minutes for everyone to calm down enough that Dumbledore could speak again.

"WIthout further ado, please turn your attention to the Goblet of Fire!"

The flames inside the Goblet shrunk until they were weaker than a campfire, then flared with the force of the sun. The blue-white flames became bright red. They pulsed three times, and a fireball shot out in Dumbledore's direction. The old man tottered back and forth, hand outstretched. Embarrassingly enough, he failed to catch the projectile, missing it by mere inches, and it hit the floor. With a sheepish chuckle, the Headmaster quickly swiped up the no-longer-burning piece of parchment, and unfolded it.

"The Champion for Durmstrang Institute _is_… Viktor Krum!" The Hall erupted into cheers, the majority of the noise coming from the Hogwarts Quidditch fanatics.

_Bulgaria's star Seeker, huh? No wonder he was chosen. Too bad Oliver graduated last year- he'd have loved to meet this guy._

Another piece of paper popped out, which the old man actually caught this time. "The Champion for Beauxbatons Academy of Magic _is_… Fleur Delacour!" Most of those clapping were males, many of which leapt up, standing on benches and tables to give standing ovations. The girls of the Beauxbatons entourage began crying.

_So, that girl is considered the best? A bit odd, considering she was overwhelmed by those bastards at the World Cup. Then again, it's likely she was ambushed. And what is _wrong _with all the guys?_

The third, and final, piece of paper shot out of the Goblet, landing right in Dumbledore's palm. He seemed rather pleased that he didn't have to move, which made sense- arthritis was every elderly person's worst enemy. "The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WIzardry _is_… Cedric Diggory!" The entirety of the Hufflepuff table hopped up, hooting and hollering, clapping Cedric on the back and shoulders. He seemed rather anxious about all the attention, but enjoyed it nevertheless.

_Hufflepuff's Seeker, I think. Heard he's a decent bloke_.

The Champions entered an antechamber off towards the back of the Great Hall, joined by the majority of the professors. Dumbledore's grin threatened to actually show _through _his massive beard.

"Thank you for all your support! We will now-!"

The Goblet of Fire spat out another scrap of parchment. It landed at the Headmaster's feet, and he stared at it, stunned, for a good minute. Then, he looked around the Great Hall to find everyone just as perplexed as he was. He pulled out his wand and cast a series of diagnostic charms, eventually determining that the paper was harmless. With noticeable reluctance, he crouched down and picked it up. With shaky, wrinkled fingers, he unfolded the paper, reading it silently. His shoulders began to droop, and every year of his incredible age showed.

"...Harry Potter."


	7. Chapter 7

"Harry?" Cedric asked, confused as to why the boy was in the antechamber with the rest of the Triwizard Champions. "Do they want us back out there or something?"

Harry shook his head, and moved to lean up against a wall near the door. Fleur Delacour looked like she wanted to approach, but remained rooted next to her Headmistress, an immensely tall woman who made Hagrid look like a child by comparison. Krum remained stoic, but his Headmaster, a pencil-thin man, sneered at him with yellow teeth. A portly blond man was eying him eagerly, tapping his fingertips together in excitement. Next to him stood a gaunt, grey-haired man. He simply looked bored.

A moment later, Dumbledore strode into the room, McGonagall on his heels. She had been the only staff member to remain in the Great Hall.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall cried, "What have you done!?"

Dumbledore raised a hand, signalling for the woman to calm down, which she reluctantly did. He was the next to speak. "Mr. Potter, did you, in any way, attempt to enter this Tournament?"

Harry shook his head, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Dumbledore, what is going on?" the French Headmistress asked tensely. Everyone in the room switched their attention to Dumbledore, even the stoic Krum and the bored man.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth Champion." He gestured towards Harry, and the shouting started.

"Is this a trick to give Hogwarts a better chance to win!?" the large woman yelled, stepping forward menacingly.

"Hmph. I thought this was supposed to be a _fair_ Tournament, Albus," the yellow-toothed man drawled. He did not look as amused as his tone suggested. Professor Sprout just glared at Harry. As Cedric's Head of House, she likely did not appreciate what looked like an attempt to steal her student's spotlight. Professor McGonagall was staring sternly at him, appalled that he would do something this disgraceful. In fact, the only person not furious with him was Dumbledore. And the other students, but they were simply confused. Professor Moody was staring at him with an unnerving intensity, and Harry had to force himself not to meet the man's gaze.

"This is no _trick!_" Dumbledore thundered, his magic pouring out of him and pressing down on everyone. The clamor was silenced instantly, replaced by the primal fear of being faced with something much, _much_ more powerful than themselves. "Do you honestly believe I would do something so underhanded? And even if I were to somehow confound the Goblet into choosing another Champion, why would I use a _Fourth Year!?_" Doubt began appearing on the faces of the other adults in the room, and Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. With that, the pressure faded, and the old man reverted back to the genial grandfather he usually was. The other inhabitants of the antechamber were shaking slightly, but they eventually gathered themselves. "Now, I will turn things over to the Ministry officials."

The blond man stepped forward. "Hello! I am Ludovic Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports! I also played as a Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, and was even chosen to play on the English National Quidditch Team! This is my colleague, Bartemius Crouch Senior, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation!" He gestured to the gray-haired man standing next to him. "Now, the rules. Since the Goblet of Fire creates magically-binding contracts, none of the Champions- including Mr. Potter- may back out. You must all compete in the challenges, of which there will be one on the first of every month." At the shocked looks from the students, Bagman's smile grew larger. "Yes, that includes tomorrow, the first of November. I suggest you rest well tonight, or you may find yourself performing unsatisfactorily. Merlin knows you'll need as much energy as you can get… Anyways, you four may not receive help from absolutely anyone for anything directly Tournament-related, to reduce the possibility of cheating. However, since you will likely be very busy prepping for the challenges on your own, you will be exempt from classes and your end-of-year exams! Isn't that nice?" When nobody commented, Bagman looked a bit put out, but he regained his cheer quickly. "Well, that's all from me! We'll be doing the Weighing of the Wands now, so if you're ready, Mr. Ollivander?"

The wandmaker entered the room, smiling gently. "Yes, thank you, Ludovic." He turned to the four students. "Well, if you all would show me your wands? I'll simply be making sure they are in working order. Let's start with… Hmm, how about you, Miss Delacour? Ladies first, you know."

Fleur stepped forward, and handed a red-tinged wand to the old man. He turned it over, examining it, before swishing it once to produce a bouquet of flowers from its tip.

"Rosewood, nine and a half inches, with a core of… Veela hair, hmm? Curious, most curious- those tend to be quite picky with who they allow to wield them."

"It is a hair from my grandmother," Fleur stated proudly, and Ollivander nodded.

"Yes, of course. If it is from a family member, then the chances of rejection are lowered drastically. Well, this wand is in working order, Miss Delacour. Thank you. Would you like to go next, Mr. Krum?"

Krum stepped forward, nearly shoving his wand at Ollivander, who simply smiled at the uncaring aggression. "A creation of Gregorovitch, eh? His wands are a bit too stiff for my taste, though there is no denying his skill in his craft. Hornbeam, ten and a quarter inches, with a core of dragonstring." A flick produced a forceful jet of water, which slammed into the far wall before the wandmaker cut it off. "I pronounce this wand in perfect condition. Mr. Diggory, you are next."

Cedric stepped forward, gently handing his wand to the old man, who smiled encouragingly at him. "Ah, one of my own. I remember the day you came to my store, Mr. Diggory; your father was so proud that you would be going to Hogwarts, just like him. Ash, twelve and a quarter inches, unicorn hair core. This particular unicorn was rather stubborn about parting with one of his tail hairs- nearly gored me with his horn! Ah, good times…" A casual wave created a flurry of bubbles, which popped with exaggerated sounds. "You've cared for this wand well, Mr. Diggory. It works fantastically. Now, we finally move onto Mr. Potter."

Harry strode forward, flicking his wrist to empty his holster, then handing the stick to Ollivander. The old man frowned.

"Hmm... " The look on Ollivander's face unsettled many people. "Holly, eleven inches exact, with a phoenix feather core… Mr. Potter, what _have_ you done with this wand? The core is very nearly burned out, and you've had it for only three years! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if…" Ollivander swiped with the wand, and it produced a torrent of sparks for all of two seconds, before it suddenly stopped. Ollivander sighed. "I was expecting that… I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but this wand will no longer perform magic."

Gasps were heard around the room, none louder than the gaudy, bejeweled spectacle-wearing witch who had followed Ollivander into the room earlier. She seemed more ecstatic than horrified, however. A man holding a camera stood next to her, and a quill and notepad hovered over her shoulder. The feather was moving furiously.

"What exactly does that mean, Mr. Ollivander, that Harry's wand won't perform magic?" she cried, voice layered with sickly sweetness.

"It is fairly self-explanatory, Ms. Skeeter, so I will assume you were asking about the burned-out core. Such an event is very rare, and usually only happens when a wand is used extensively, made to channel massive amounts of magic without much rest. Wand cores can usually heal themselves over time, but they must be _given_ that time, else they will fracture beyond repair, as Mr. Potter's wand has done." There were galleons in Skeeter's eyes, and she eagerly tapped the shoulder of her companion, who seemed rather annoyed. He still moved forward to get a few closeup shots of the dead wand in Ollivander's hand.

"What will this mean for Harry and the Tournament?" Skeeter asked, turning to Bagman this time.

"Mr. Potter will still have to compete, but he will be at a severe disadvantage until he can procure another wand. Unfortunately, since the first task is tomorrow, he does not have the time to do so beforehand." Skeeter looked ready to combust with excitement. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"Well, I believe that the ceremony is complete. Thank you for coming, Garrick. It's always nice to see you."

"Thank you for having me, Albus. I look forward to your next visit, Mr. Potter." With that, the wandmaker left the antechamber.

"Time for pictures!" Skeeter cried, seemingly having forgotten about her previous questions. Harry turned to leave, but a wrinkled hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Come now, my boy- a simple picture will not kill you."

Harry exhaled a bit heavier than normal, but complied with the old man's gentle command. The Champions were lined up, with Krum and Harry being pulled slightly forwards, to emphasize their selection to compete in the Triwizard Tournament.

"Ah, Harry, could you please pull down your scarf and give us a nice, big smile?" Skeeter asked. When Harry made no move to comply, she sighed, and gestured for her colleague to simply take the picture anyways. The four were shuffled around a few times, taking a couple of solo pictures, before Skeeter was finally satisfied. Then, other people with cameras came forward from their positions at the back of the room, and it was _their_ turn to take pictures. The whole ordeal took about a half-hour, and Harry was very close to burning everything near him to ashes. However, the photographers finally announced they were all done, and Harry sighed inaudibly. He turned to leave, but was once more grabbed. This time, it was by the taloned hand of Skeeter.

"Wait, Harry, would you like to say anything regarding your placement in the Tournament, or perhaps the loss of your wand?"

"No."

Skeeter yanked him closer to her, pressing herself up against him. "Are you sure, _Harry?_ We could always have a _private_ interview in a broom closet, you know…" Her minty breath washed against his ear, which twitched a bit at the unexpected stimulation.

Harry scowled, breaking his calm facade for the first time that night, and heated his arm up enough that it burned Skeeter. She leapt back with a yelp, which drew attention from the rest of the room. Harry started walking again, this time with Skeeter trailing after him. She seemed to have learned her lesson about touching him, but that was all.

"Wait, Harry! You owe it to your fans across Britain to answer our questions! Nobody knows _anything_-!"

The slam of a door cut her off.

* * *

The four Champions stood in a tent the next morning, accompanied by Bagman.

"Well, kiddos, this it! The morning of the first task! Excited?" Cedric was the only one to smile at the blond, though that was just because he was the nicest. Krum scowled, Fleur looked bored, and Harry's eyes weren't even open. Bagman wondered if the youngest amongst the group had somehow fallen asleep standing up. He ignored it, though.

"Er, I'm sure the suspense just has you shocked into silence. However, fear no more, because you'll find out soon! You only need to hand over your wands!"

This time, the Champions actually _were_ shocked into silence. Harry was the first to give the man his wand, but that was only because it made no difference whether he had it or not, considering the broken core. Reluctantly, the other teens followed suit. Then, Bagman jauntily skipped out of the tent, leaving a group of stunned young adults in his wake.

"What just…?" Cedric asked, but couldn't even finish his question. Nobody said anything after that until they were called out by one of the Tournament staff.

They were each positioned in front of a white line, equal distances away from each other, and looking up at the massive, stone wall looming over them. Small, colored rocks poked out from the side.

"Welcome, witches and wizards, to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Today, we'll be watching our four- yes, _four-_ Champions race to the finish in this obstacle course! For those of you who don't know, an obstacle course is a Muggle invention, which lines up a series of challenges that the participants must work their way past. In addition to that, we've decided to go all the way, and take the wands of the Champions! They'll be doing this like true Muggles, using nothing but their own physical abilities! No brooms, no potions, no enchanted items, just their own muscles."

A portion of the crowd was outraged, but the vast majority seemed quite interested, if their cheering was any indication. Bagman basked in the applause for a moment, before returning to his duty as the announcer.

"We'll be putting up a course-wide Silencing Charm, so that the Champions don't hear what I'm about to say. Wouldn't do for them to actually _know_ what they're getting into, right?" Bagman gestured to a group of people below the stands, who were crouched over a large rune array. They seemed to activate it, because all outside noise suddenly ceased. The only thing Harry could hear was his own breathing, and that of the legitimate Champions.

Harry stood all the way on the right, the rest of the Champions to his left. Fleur, directly next to him, decided to strike up a conversation.

"So, your real name is Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"Why did you say it was Hadrian Black?"

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Yes. You lied to me."

Harry twisted his head so he was looking at her. "Is there something wrong with that?" he asked again, in the same tone. Fleur huffed.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Why _wouldn't _I lie to you?"

"Because… It is rude."

"That means nothing. I had no obligation to tell you the truth. If not for the Triwizard Tournament, you would have never seen me again, and then the point would be moot."

"Yes, but the Triwizard Tournament _is_ happening, and you are right in front of me."

"...Fair enough. That doesn't change my reasoning. I had no idea about the Tournament back then, and thus had no reason to expect to ever see you again."

"And yet, I am right in front of you. I would appreciate it if you did not lie to me again."

"Fine. I will not lie to you." Something about his tone made Fleur suspicious- especially the way he turned his face forward when he said it.

"Was that another lie?"

"Perhaps. What will you do about it?"

"_This._" A wave of energy washed over Harry's mind, repelled by his icy Occlumency shields. The aura was accompanied by a faintly sweet smell, which seemed to also be affecting Cedric and Krum. The Hufflepuff turned to look at Fleur with a dopey grin. Krum simply raised an eyebrow. Harry tilted his head in thought.

"...Are you, perhaps, a Veela?"

Fleur's smirk faded away, and she reigned in the aura. She seemed oddly put-out about something. "Yes, I am. How did you know? Was it my undeniable beauty?" Now she was becoming haughty.

"The aura you give off is the same as the Bulgarian cheerleaders from the World Cup."

Krum stifled a chuckle, but his choking noise caused Fleur to glare at him. He pointedly did not look at her. She turned her glare back on Harry.

"And? So _what_ if I give off the same aura as those bimbos?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His shock was dispersed by a white, glowing number three suddenly appearing in the air. It morphed into a two, and Harry understood that it was a counter.

"I think you should focus on the task," Harry told Fleur, who was rather irate at her question being ignored. However, she did as the emerald-eyed boy suggested, and turned to face forward, crouching slightly so she could get an explosive start. She was at a bit of a disadvantage; Krum was an international-level athlete, so he likely did intense training every day to keep in shape. Cedric and Harry were males, and so naturally developed to be physically superior, at least a little bit. She was hoping that, being three years younger, Harry would be lacking in that department. Unfortunately, considering how he was a good inch or two taller than her, it was unlikely. Even worse, she had no clue about the illegitimate Champion's grasp on wandless magic.

When the counter struck zero, Harry dropped into a crouch, slapping his palm against the packed dirt. Ice spread from the contact point, and covered the area within moments, trapping the feet of the other Champions. They shouted out in surprise and dismay. Harry calmly rose to his full height, and imperiously examined his work. Cedric was gaping at him in shock, Krum was scowling, and Fleur… Looked remarkably unconcerned. Harry figured out why a moment later when her feet began steaming, melting her frosty shackles, and allowing her to move unimpeded, if a bit unsteady due to the now-slick ground. She smirked at him.

"Is that all you have, little boy?" she taunted. Harry raised a single brow. He would've pointed out the height difference, but felt that was a bit too childish.

"Not quite." With a wave of his hand, the ground underneath his feet raised up, a small platform carved out with Transfiguration. A simple Levitation Charm brought him into the air, and he smirked at Fleur's shock- not that she'd see it, since he was wearing a scarf. Manipulation the charm, Harry rose further and further, until he was over the wall, leaving the three legitimate Champions behind.

The first obstacle seemed to be that climbing wall. The second was a long pit of mud, with a balance beam as the only way to cross. However, aside from only being a few inches wide, there was the added difficulty of the guillotine blades swinging back and forth like pendulums, leaving no space to crawl under them. Harry's platform floated off to the side, then made its way across the pit, though it was still well within the bounds of the course.

Obstacle three consisted of monkey bars, which Harry hadn't seen since recess in primary school. Unlike those monkey bars though, which were merely a few feet above the woodchip-covered ground, this set hung over an ominous pit. At the bottom, the pointed tips of metal spikes glinted menacingly. Once more, Harry floated across with little to no effort.

The fourth obstacle was a rope swing, with four ropes tied to anchors that were hammered into the ground. What made this obstacle particularly daunting was the seemingly bottomless hole that awaited the poor soul who lost their grip on the rope. There weren't even deadly spikes waiting to impale someone, just the inky darkness. In a fit of mischievousness (or perhaps cruelty), Harry cast wandless Cutting Charms at the ropes, sending them to hang above the void.

Obstacle five was where it seemed like his strategy had finally outlived its usefulness. There were several bludgers floating in the air over a long stretch of land, ready to crush the bones of whoever they could get to. They were the same brown color as the bludgers used in Hogwarts' Quidditch matches, so Harry assumed they were 5-pounders, but even those could be lethal with the speeds they flew at. Deciding he'd rather not deal with it, Harry discarded his platform, then began Transfiguring a tunnel underground. There was a noticeable drain on his magic reserves, as a result of moving so much earth out of the way, then putting it back in place (just because he wasn't actively interfering with the other Champions didn't mean he'd allow them to profit off his hard work), but not enough to particularly worry him. After all, the course was meant to be done without magic, so they likely hadn't planned anything too difficult. Just to be safe, Harry continued tunneling long past when he estimated the bludger field to have ended, before finally popping up out of the ground, feeling like a mole.

The sixth obstacle was another straight field, though there were holes littering the ground. Harry took a moment to observe, and was grateful that he did. From the openings, gouts of fire spewed like a geyser, reaching nearly ten feet into the air. It was a bit overdramatic, to be honest. Harry stomped on the ground, and inch-thick ice spread across the field, covering the traps. Harry quickly jogged across, not particularly wanting to wait and see how long it took for the flames to melt through his little barrier.

Obstacle number seven was a pool of water, with somewhat small platforms floating on the surface. Under the water were several incredibly odd creatures. They looked like turtles, with their shells and coloring, but they had human-like limbs, albeit with slightly distorted proportions. Their beaked faces stared at him with curiosity, and Harry decided he'd rather _not_ deal with whatever those things were. He stomped his foot once more, freezing the top of the pool, and quickly rushed across. He didn't bother unfreezing it; if any of the other Champions made it here before it melted naturally (which was highly unlikely), they were welcome to use it.

Obstacle eight looked rather similar to the bludger field, but instead of spheres ready to crush skulls, there were pillars sticking up out of the ground, looking rather innocuous. Cautiously, Harry stepped forward, only to throw himself backwards when a pillar that was off to his left zoomed towards him, nearly slamming into him with enough force to send the boy flying. Quickly, he Transfigured the ground beneath him into a foot-thick wall, ready for the pillar to give chase. However, it didn't. Instead, it returned back to where it was, and Harry pieced together the mechanism; the pillars would only attack if you were directly horizontal to them. The lack of mobility was made up for by the sheer speed with which they moved, far outstripping a bludger. However, it wasn't actually that difficult of an obstacle. The only thing that was required was a non-stop bullrush. Even a split-second of hesitation would get you hurt. So, Harry bounced on his toes a few times, bent at the knees, and took off running. He tore past the pillars that were trying so desperately to send him to the hospital- or even the grave, if they got lucky- and only slowed down once he was nearly twenty feet past the obstacle, breathing deeply, though not uncontrollably. He continued on until he reached his next challenge.

The ninth obstacle was a riddle. Specifically, a riddle from a sphinx. With the head of a woman, and the body of a lion, the creature painted a disturbing sight, despite all the things Harry had seen. He maintained a fair distance, because those claws looked rather sharp.

"Greetings, Champion."

"Hello."

"I suppose you will be wanting to pass by me?"

"That is my plan."

"Then, you must answer a riddle. Or, you can refuse, and we will fight. What is your choice?"

"I choose the riddle."

"Fair enough. Know this, however; if you fail to answer correctly, then we will still fight. Are you prepared?"

"Yes."

"Very well. This is my riddle; What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?" Harry was rather lucky he'd once heard this exact riddle in school, before Hogwarts. The chances of him getting it right otherwise were rather low; he wasn't a Ravenclaw.

"Is it the letter m?"

The sphinx nodded, taking a step to the side. "It is, indeed. You may pass, Champion. May you fare well in your future endeavors."

Harry nodded at the demi-human, and jogged past. A minute or two later, Harry crossed the finish line, and sound came back to the world.

"And Harry Potter has finished first!" Bagman shouted.

Unsure what to do, Harry simply stood there for a moment, observing the crowd. Quite a few- mostly Hogwarts students- were making rude hand gestures, jeering and booing him. A few times, he heard the word _cheat_ being tossed around. Eventually, one of the Tournament staff came to collect him, leading him to a medical tent. Inside, Madam Pomfrey was waiting, and she cast a series of diagnostic charms. After a barrage of light- which Harry _still_ could not make sense of- she nodded in satisfaction.

"Well, you seem to be in tip-top shape, Mr. Potter. Good job on not making more work for me." Harry smiled at that, though it was hidden by his scarf. Poppy had a special place in his heart, since she frequently treated his injuries. Definitely not without complaint, but in those moments, Harry was able to imagine what it would be like to have a caring mother. Or perhaps a doting grandmother, considering the Healer's age.

With his medical examination done, he was sat in a chair, and told to wait until the other Champions finished. With nothing to do, he dozed off.

* * *

"Now, we'll be showing the scores! They are calculated based on the amount of time a Champion took to complete the course, and for how many mistakes they made. Starting at fifty points, competitors lose five points for every ten minutes it takes them to finish, after the half-hour mark. Then, they lose a further two points for each mistake," Bagman explained. "Now, in fourth place, we have… Well, there isn't actually a fourth place! As difficult as it is to believe, Mr. Cedric Diggory, Ms. Fleur Delacour, and Mr. Victor Krum tied for second place, with an astounding score of _ZERO POINTS!_ Due to Mr. Potter's interference- which was never explicitly stated as against the rules, so he was well within his rights to do as he did, despite how unorthodox and downright _dirty_ his methods were- all three of these aforementioned Champions took so long to finish that they lost all their points! This isn't even accounting for the mistakes each of them made, people! Talk about a stroke of absolutely _horrible_ luck!

Cedric smiled sadly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His robes were stained brown, and one of his sleeves was looking a bit charred. Fleur was scowling at the blond man, put out by how casually he talked about her failings. She looked ready to strangle him, if the curling of her fingers was any clue. Krum was stoic as ever, though the muscles in his jaw were bulging a bit as he clenched it in irritation. All three pointedly did not look at Harry, but he could feel the rage emanating off of them. Fleur was literally steaming, her fiery rage manifesting as actual heat due to her Veela heritage.

"And speaking of Mr. Harry Potter, he has achieved first place! He finished in twenty-eight minutes and fifty seconds, and didn't make a _single_ mistake! Not hard to do, considering he effectively _skipped_ all of the obstacles, but talk about a magnificent showcase of wandless magic! Either way, he leaves the first task with the full fifty points! That's all for today, folks! I'll see you all next month for the second task!"

* * *

"Good morning, Griphook."

"Hmph. _Wizard_."

"I'd like to speak with Nagnok."

The goblin grunted, and walked out from behind his desk. Harry followed, and a few moments later, he was sitting in the same office from over a year ago. Griphook left, muttering things in a language Harry couldn't understand, but he assumed they were derogatory.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. It has been a while. What business do you have?"

"My rings have changed." Harry tugged off his glove (which was Charmed to automatically readjust its size as he put it on), revealing the rings on his left hand. Unlike before, when they only covered from the knuckled to the first joint, they now reached up to the second joint, somehow not impacting his ability to bend his fingers. Nagnok blinked.

"Well, given that you are not yet seventeen years of age, it seems you have somehow become emancipated. Do you have any idea how that may have happened?"

Harry tilted his head in thought. "The rings changed as soon as I was selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Ah, yes. The selection was done by the Goblet of Fire, was it not?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose that explains it. Those chosen are bound by a magical contract to compete. However, magical contracts only take hold with those recognized by magic itself as an adult. Since you weren't yet recognized in such a way, the Goblet forcefully emancipated you. This has happened a few times before- nothing to worry about. So, what will you do with that information?"

"... At the moment, nothing. I have other things to worry about. Thank you for your time, Nagnok."

"Well, should you change your mind, you may always return. Good day, _Lord_ Potter."

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Potter! Congratulations on your emancipation! I suppose you're here for a new wand?"

Harry nodded, not even questioning how Ollivander knew about something that he himself had only found out about today. The old man was even more enigmatic than the Headmaster, and Dumbledore wore those gaudy, multi-colored robes!

"Well, I doubt you'd like to spend hours looking for another match, considering how long it took the first time. Luckily for us, you already have something you can use!"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I didn't expect you to," Ollivander said, waving him off. "Now, why don't you summon the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"...I don't think the Summoning Charm works from that far."

Ollivander sighed. "Not with _magic_, Mr. Potter- call it through its connection to your blood. Simply think about having it in your hand."

Harry held out his left hand, and thought of holding the intricate, ruby-encrusted, gold hilt. An instant later, he felt the familiar weight in his hand, and was quite surprised.

"Since when could it do that?" Harry asked absently, turning the blade over in his hand like it was a foreign object.

"It always could; one of the enchantments added by the crafters. Now, imagine it in the same shape as your wand."

Harry did so, and was amazed when a completely smooth, eleven-inch-long rod of silver sat in his hand. Surprisingly, it weighed no more than a wooden stick. It was perfectly straight, with none of the knots or dents of a typical wand. It didn't even taper off to a point, like most wands did. It would be more accurate to call it a baton, if anything.

"Will this allow me to do magic?" Harry asked, waving the metal rod around. The movements were a bit shaky, since he typically used his right hand to perform magic. He'd have to adjust one of his hands- either learn to use the sword in his right, or use a wand in his left. He'd rather be able to switch forms in an instant without having to take time to switch hands. He was leaning more towards changing wand hands, because all he did these days was simply flick. It'd been a while since he'd performed the proper wand movement for a spell he wasn't in the process of learning. His aim was going to be atrocious for awhile, though.

"I assume you mean because it has no core?" A nod answered the old man's question. "Yes, it will. As I said, it is linked to your blood, and will be able to draw magic from you. However, without the secondary core to refine the magic, you may find yourself overpowering your spells for quite a while. You will also be able to perform fewer spells than before; one of the advantages of secondary cores is that they can convert natural magic from the air into a spell, which will handle some of the magical cost. Without that second core, spells will draw all their power directly from you, and you alone. Fortunately, since you're young, your core will simply be forced to grow much larger, to compensate. Or, your core will remain the same size, while managing to contain more magic, resulting in higher potency. Or both. It depends on how hard you push yourself- although, if you managed to burn out a phoenix feather core in three years, I don't think that will be much of an issue," Ollivander finished wryly. He seemed a bit contrite about that.

Harry slipped his basilisk-hide wand holster off his right forearm, and latched it onto his left. A few practice flicks assured him that he would be able to adjust to this new arrangement, given time.

"I do believe that is all, Mr. Potter. Good luck with the Tournament!"

Harry nodded at the eccentric wandmaker, and left the shop.

* * *

"Harry!" Fleur cried, walking over quickly to catch up with him. He was just finishing up his daily jog, and his usual route happened to take him past the Beauxbatons carriage. Fleur had, coincidentally, just walked out of said carriage, along with a posse of other French girls. They giggled when they saw him, which irked the deepest recesses of his soul. He was lucky he wore his scarf and gloves, even on his jog, just in case of something like this.

"Miss Delacour," he said politely, hoping that the curtness of his greeting and quickening of his pace would make the platinum-blonde understand he did not want to speak.

"Do you have a moment to spare? Me and my friends would like a tour of the castle."

"Unfortunately, I am quite busy." Fleur seemed rather put out at that, and looked about to give up, much to Harry's delight. He didn't have anything against the girl, he'd just rather not talk to strangers, especially not so early in the morning. There were few people he felt comfortable around these days. Unfortunately, Fleur got support from an unlikely source; a silver-haired Third Year. He hadn't noticed her approach until she was right next to them.

"Harry," Luna said airily, sounding oddly like she was trying to scold him, but was failing on the account of her wide smile. It reminded of Petunia and Dudley, a thought which sickened him to his core. Thankfully, though, Luna's expression lacked the sharp edge of scorn that came from the joy the Dursleys took in lecturing him on things that weren't even his fault in the first place. "It's quite rude to lie to people, you know. Especially our friends from over the river."

"Hoh? So, you are lying to me _again_, Harry? That's the third time in as many meetings." Fleur was more amused than angry. Pity. If she was furious with him, she would be more likely to drop the topic and leave him alone.

Deciding that being distantly polite wasn't going to get him out of here, the emerald-eyed boy turned to rudeness. "They are no friends of mine."

"Well, that's the point of them coming here, isn't it? So that we can all become the best of friends!" Luna replied cheerfully.

"Then, I have no intention of becoming their friends."

Luna twirled in circles, moving until she stood in front of him, then reached up and lightly tapped her palm against his nose. "Very bad! No being mean to the nice French people!"

"What am I, a dog?" Harry rebuked, slightly annoyed.

Luna tilted her head. "No. I suppose you're more of a snake," she said casually, as if that wasn't considered an insult of the highest order in Great Britain. With an aggravated growl, Harry made to walk past the young girl, only to be stopped by her spinning in front of him again, then jabbing a finger in his face. "No running away!"

Harry pulled down his scarf slightly, and leaned forward quickly to grab Luna's finger between his teeth. He applied pressure until she yelped, then let go. She pulled back, wrapping a hand around the digit and stamping her foot on the ground childishly.

"You bit me!" she whined, tears in her eyes, and Harry found himself feeling somewhat guilty. He awkwardly patted the girl on her head.

"Er… Sorry?"

Luna shook her head stubbornly, silver hair waving wildly. "No, sorry isn't good enough! You have to make it up to me!"

"Um… Okay. How?"

"You have to take the nice French people on a tour of the castle!"

Harry gaped at the girl, thankful his mouth was hidden, and that nobody present was tall enough to see down his collar. "...Is there another option?"

Luna tapped the bottom of her chin idly, then grew a sly grin. "I'd accept a kiss! On the mouth, of course!" She emphasized her point by pointing at her puckered lips.

"As you can see, this is the Forbidden Forest. It is home to an acromantula colony, centaurs, unicorns, and whatever the hell Hagrid's been breeding lately. If you'll follow me…"

"Oh, poo!"

* * *

Harry sighed tiredly. He was escorting Fleur back to the Beauxbatons carriage. At some point, her entourage had all vanished, claiming exhaustion, or hunger, or some such garbage. Even Luna left, saying she thought she had seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Fleur giggled at his fatigue. "I must remember to thank Luna. You are quite the skilled tour guide, Harry."

"Hm," he grunted, side-eying the girl. "Why did you want a tour in the first place? Especially from me? Are you forgetting how I sabotaged you in the first Task?"

The girl tilted her head from side to side, humming in consideration. "Well, I wanted a tour because I would like to at least know where I am going for the next year. And no, I have not forgotten what you did; I will simply pay you back the next chance I get. I understand why you did it. We _are_ in a competition, after all, and it was not against the rules. I would have been more angry if you had specifically targeted me, but you did not."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You are much more mature about this than I expected."

Fleur smirked. "Did you wish for me to act more indignant and offended? I can, if that is what you want."

Harry waved her off with a gloved hand. "No, I'd actually prefer if you _didn't_. You didn't answer my last question, though. Why me?" They came to a stop in front of the Beauxbatons carriage, and turned to face each other.

Fleur placed a finger on her cheek thoughtfully. "I'll tell you, but you must promise not to say anything to anyone else."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not like I have many people to tell," he said, slightly bitter. Fleur's expression softened slightly, but she was quickly smiling coyly once more, beckoning for him to lend his ear. Deciding to humor her, Harry leaned to the side, allowing the French girl to cup her hands around his ear.

"I asked you, because I wished to know more about my saviour." Then, before he could even rattle off a snarky comment, the vixen pulled down his scarf and planted a kiss on his cheek. She scampered up the stairs and waved at him slyly. "Have a nice day, Harry. Let's do this again."

The young man was left staring at the door of the carriage for a solid minute, shocked beyond words. Eventually, his brain managed to restart, and he ambled back towards the castle, in need of a nice nap.

* * *

"So, Harry-"

"Not one word, Neville."

"What? I just wanted to know if you could help me with this one spell."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Although, how _was_ your date?"

A flood of Stunners slammed into the Longbottom Heir, and he hit the ground, out cold.

_Worth it._

* * *

"Alright, witches and wizards, I hope you're all ready for the final competitor of the second task, Mr. Harry Potter! And it seems he picked the _nastiest _of the bunch; the Hungarian Horntail!"

Said beast was currently roaring wildly in the center of the stadium, standing over her nest of eggs, eyes roving in an effort to watch every single one of the people in the stands, ensuring they didn't try and attack. It would have been an amusing sight, to see a dragon spinning around like a top. It was much less funny when he remembered he was going to be facing that dragon right now. It was also fairly sobering once he heard what she was yelling.

"_Oath-breakers! Egg-destroyers! KIN-KILLERS!"_

Apparently, Parseltongue extended to dragons. He had no clue what she was angry about, and resolved to find out at a later date. Preferably when he _wasn't_ right in front of the angry dragon.

Harry tapped his metal wand against his leg idly, staring at the brown dragon. She finally seemed to notice him, and narrowed in on the human that dared to approach her babies with laser-focus. It was a good thing she was chained, and more interested in standing protectively over her nest, otherwise she'd have simply lunged across the distance and devoured him. Silencing Wards went up over the arena, blocking out the screams of the crowd.

"Should I do this the easy way, or the easy way?" Harry muttered to himself, smirking slightly. There was absolutely no way in any of the pits of hell that he would be getting anywhere _near_ that dragon. So, he flicked his wand, Conjuring a simple linen sheet. Due to his extensive practice with the combination of Summoning, Banishing, and Levitation charms, he was able to easily manipulate the position of the cloth with hardly a thought. The sheet zoomed across the arena, easily bypassing the dragon's attempt to roast it to ashes (though the intense heat of the fire did turn it slightly black at the fringes), and wrapped around the golden egg. Then, Harry Summoned the sheet, Vanished it, and was left with the egg in his arms, all without moving a step.

The dragon roared wordlessly at him, and lunged, only to be held back by the shackles around her legs and neck. The beast leapt again, a strangled noise emerging from her throat when she was choked by her collar. The Horntail made a third attempt- the chains shattered.

For a solid second, the arena was silent. Harry was staring in unmasked shock at the now-free dragon, while said dragon was taking a second to register that she was successful in breaking free. Unfortunately, the winged lizard recovered first, and pounced at Harry, covering the entire distance in a single powerful bound. She landed right in front of Harry, crouching low so that the tip of her snout was level with his face, staring down her elongated face. The massive amber irises held a feral sort of intelligence, that of a being that knew reason, but acted on instinct. An apex predator. Coupled with the apocalyptic rage in the black, slit pupils, and it was no wonder that a bead of sweat ran down Harry's forehead, right down into his eye.

He blinked on reflex, and the mother Horntail seemed to take it as a personal offense, because she reared back, roaring loudly. In the back of her gullet, white-hot flames began to brew, and Harry swore loudly. He tossed the golden egg off to the side haphazardly while leaping backwards, hands flying up, palms brimming with ice magic. Glacier met firestorm, and Harry blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

This probably isn't what y'all had in mind for the next update for this story, but... Made a Pat re on account. Kinda cool, I guess. Just gonna be posting random stories and shit, for the most part. Check it out, Creator name is CrazyClouds, and my profile pic is the same as here on FF.


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